Found in Time
by ShhUrDead678
Summary: Dean and John Winchester are not related to Sam. They find him bloody on the side of the road, and consider taking him back to his parents. Is it such a good idea? Limp!Sam,16 Protective!Dean,20
1. Chapter 1

REMEMBER TO TAKE MY AWESOME POLL!!!!!!

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

* * *

Dean stuffed his things into his bag, murmuring something about "discourteous bastards that can go jump in a well". It was time to move on from this town, having already destroyed the army of ghosts haunting a damn grocery store. John, being his usual self, decided rest was no longer a priority for the Winchesters and wanted to be ready to go by eight.

Dean walked into the bathroom, which consisted of only a tub, toilet, and sink, and locked the door behind him. He looked at himself in the small mirror, his droopy expression looking right back at him with unseen eyes. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in days, waking up nearly every day at two in the morning for the hunt. Though he could never complain to his father about whipping supernatural butt, because it _was_ fun, but the exhaustion he was feeling was finally taking its toll. He was worn out, no longer having the usual, confident expression on his face. He was too tired to keep up his façade, allowing his body and demeanor to show his true color: tired as hell.

He splashed cold water in his face, rubbing his face of today's muck and grime. Dean thought about taking a nice, hot shower but realized he was running out of time to finish packing. He had to be ready to leave at eight, and it was already 7:42. Reluctantly, he left the small bathroom.

Dean went over to the weapons area. There were only five in the motel room, leaving the rest in the secret compartment of the Impala.

Dean began to clean the guns, wistfully swiping off all the dust that had collected on the guns over the past few days. They hadn't found the time to clean them, their schedule only allowing the room for hunting, eating, and sleeping. It was starting to get old. Fast.

By the time he was capable of using all the guns as his own personal mirror, John had entered their cluttered room, food in hand. He set the food on the small, grimy bed, and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it next to the food.

"You finish the guns?"

Dean gave a curt nod, as to not show _too _much disrespect for his father. John was a great man, always moving from hunt to hunt, saving as many lives his own would allow and still looking for the thing that killed Mary. For the most part, he understood John's desire for revenge, to avenge his belated mother. The only problem was what happens after they kill the demon that killed her. The only reason they had started hunting in the first place was to even the score. Killing it wouldn't bring her back, or make her any less dead. The deed had been done, the demon accomplishing whatever it wanted to accomplish. It had won; it had destroyed the Winchester's life, eradicating any change of living a "normal" life.

Though it was never said out loud, they constantly lived in fear for the day they found Mary's killer.

After the two Winchesters downed their dinner, they packed everything into the Impala swiftly. John drove out of the parking lot with his foot slammed on the pedal, leaving a puff of smoke in their wake. John had found a possible threat in Englewood, Colorado, reading in the newspaper of unknown deaths going on in the forest. Though Dean didn't see anything suspicious about it, John urged that it had to be something supernatural, leaving no room for questions that didn't pertain to his judgment.

They continued down the road.

-----O-----

For hours they drove, only stopping twice as they made their way to their current destination. They had a four hour drive left, which Dean was definitely not looking forward to.

The actual kicking ass seemed promising though.

They seemed to be the only one on the desolate road, maybe seeing _one_ other car before turning onto another road. Now they were all alone.

Or maybe not.

Both the Winchesters turned their gaze to the side of the road when they saw someone slumped on the floor, laying on his stomach. Without words, John parked the car next to the kid. They got out of the Impala, making their way over to the kid, and carefully flipped him onto his back.

Dean's heart fell into his stomach as he looked at the kid in front of him. He had to be no more than eighteen, his baby face making him look years younger. He had long, brown hair covering his eyes, and Dean gently swiped it out of his face, mutely wondering what the kid's eyes looked like.

His heart seemed to reach his feet by the time he looked over the kid completely. He had scratches all over his body, with large welts covering his body. He had a black eye. Many of his injuries looked fairly new, making them more discernible than the older, more faded wounds.

Dean's brows scrunched further. What had happened to this kid? Anger began to bleed into his veins, just adding fuel to the fire as he looked him over. It was more than obvious whoever inflicted these wounds was out to get him. His left hand was marred a black color, having possibly been burned several times, then thrown in a furnace. His right ankle seemed to contain no more flesh, as if rubbed raw on chains for years of pain and torture until it finally rotted away.

He wondered if his theories were correct as he looked over to his father, whom looked like he was thinking the same _damn_ thing. John granted Dean a brief nod, permitting Dean to put the kid in his care. He slowly picked the kid up, and nearly staggered from his weight. Not because he was heavy, but yet, because he was _light_. Way too fucking light.

With one of Dean's hands on the small of Sam's back and the other under his knees, he hauled him toward the Impala. He could feel the kid's bones jutting out of his skin. Dean cringed inwardly, wondering how long since he had had a decent meal.

Dean laid him down gently in the backseat, then silently closed the door. He made his way to the passenger seat as John went to the driver's.

"What do you think happened to him?" Dean asked, shutting his door.

John shrugged. "I really don't know. Maybe the kid was kidnapped or something. We should find his parents, just in case." John seemed to struggle with some internal thought. "We should finish the hunt, _then_ take him home, once he tells us where he lives, of course."

Dean agreed with little reluctance. Though for some unfathomable reason he wanted to stay and protect the kid, he knew the safest place for him would be home. Winchesters hunted monsters and, in the kid's condition, was in no state to tag along with them. Dean smiled, imagining the look on the kid's face when he saw the protective demeanor of his parents again. He wondered how long the kid had been away from his family, but urged his mind away.

_From the looks of his injuries, I'd say at _least_ a year._

Dean rubbed his face with his hands, exhaustion overwhelming him. John seemed to notice, then told him to take a nap. Dean offered little, if any, resistance, as he rested his head on the window sill, falling asleep at once.

John looked over at his son, a smile creeping on his face. He had been working the boy hard lately, and Dean didn't disappoint. He had killed over twenty ghosts in a week, and he was only twenty. John flicked his eyes to the kid in the backseat, resting his head on the cushion of the seat. John had no idea what he was going to do with the kid once they got to a motel. _I guess he'll share a bed with Dean._

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HOPE U LIKED IT! I don't really know if you guys like this so it would be great if you all review. If no does, I'll just stop working on this one and go for something else

I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked out my other stories!! You might like one, if not both!! =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =)

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**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	2. Author's Note

**AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!!!**

I realize I have not updated _any_ of my stories for several days, and I apologize. I hate making excuses for myself but my schedule has been very hectic. I have school, in which I have an essay, science fair project forms, and major Religion test on Friday. Not only that, but I also have softball practice after school from 3:45 to around 5:30. Homework takes _forever_ since we're getting more in depth in information and it's exhausting. HOWEVER, I _will_ be updating hopefully _all_ of my stories over this weekend!! I will try and make it up by making the next chapters extra long! PLEASE BE PATIENT!!!

I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-ShhUrDead678

P.S.- if you ever have any ideas let me know!! I would love to hear what u think!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Hope you like it!!! MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!  
**_P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did I would have a heart attack and die…..**

* * *

They stopped for the night around three in the morning, both Dean and the kid still passed out in the Impala. After getting a room at the shabby mote, John shook Dean awake, rather roughly urging him to consciousness. Dean mumbled incoherently, lightly swatting the hand away from his shoulder.

"Dean, wake up" John said urgently. An alarm seemed to go off in Dean's brain, set to go off whenever John spoke, bringing him back to the Impala he was currently sitting in. He looked around, still slightly disoriented. His eyes found the kid in the backseat, the past events flashing in his mind as he sat mesmerized at the kid. The injuries were no better and, if anything, they seemed worse.

Dean got out of the Impala, shutting the door behind him. He got into the backseat, slowly bringing the kid into his arms. He hugged him tightly to his chest, being careful for all his wounds. The kid seemed to inwardly cringe, though he didn't actually seem aware of the stiff withdrawal in his muscles.

Dean looked around, and found that John had already opened the door to their motel room, which was conveniently located on the external part of the worn down building.

Dean, towing the kid in his arms, brought him over to their room, then set him down on the bed lightly. He turned around to get the first-aid kit when his dad appeared in front of him, kit in hand. Dean smiled briefly, grabbed it out of his hands, and then got to work.

Dean looked at the kid's burned hand warily. He would be scarred forever, whatever the cause may be. He moved around the hand, fixing up all his other injuries; he applied apple cider vinegar to most of the bruises, but was left with just putting ice packs on the really big ones. He situated ointment on all the kid's scratches, and by God, he had a _lot_ of them. He was an average kid, save for the burned hand, bruises, and physical years of abuse.

Dean watched as the kid's hand moved, his fingers bending as if grasping for something. It was a small movement, yet it sent shivers down Dean's back. He would finally be able to get some inside information on this kid so he could take him back to his parents. _Where he belonged _Dean thought dreadfully. He had to fight the urge to just keep the kid forever, keeping him clasped in his arms till the days darkened into oblivion. He didn't even know why, the kid just seemed so affable. He had always wanted a brother to look out for, and now the only chance he had was going to be ruined.

He motioned to his father, who had been cleaning guns while Dean worked on him, ushering him over. John sauntered forward, intrigued when the kid's movement level increased. They watched as he tried to open his eyes, the light too blinding for him to see properly.

Dean immediately went over to turn the lights off. He walked back, in front of the bed, and rested his hand on his shoulder.

The kid flipped out, hastily getting away from the touch as if he had been trying to dodge a bullet. He nearly ran off the bed, but Dean caught him before he got any further.

"Shh…it's okay, we're not going to hurt you. You're safe now." Dean held onto the kid, his arms clasped around the kid's tiny waist. He felt the warmth radiating from the kid, and immediately knew he couldn't let anything happen to him now that he was in his grasp. He continued to struggle, pushing his body as far away from Dean's as he could. It was no use, however, and Dean could feel the kid's means to escape gradually deflating. He sensed a type of recognition in the kid, a possible knowing of what was to come. Dean instantly pulled away, just close enough to be able to snatch him if he made a move for the door.

The kid stayed still and tense, his back facing the two Winchesters. His head hung low, successfully covering his eyes with his hair. Dean frowned, having never gotten a good look at his eyes yet.

It's all right. You're safe now" Dean says again, slowly easing toward the kid, placing a hand on his shoulder. The kid visibly recoiled, the muscle under Dean's hand shaking convulsively. Dean removed his hand. The kid seemed grateful

The kid turned around to see two very perplexed Winchesters. He looked up at Dean, watching him with pleading eyes. Dean stared into the kid's deep blue eyes, seeing the world-weary pain the kid could no longer hide.

_Maybe it had been _several_ years of torture._

Dean offered a small smile, though he was positive it appeared more as a grimace.

"What's your name, little guy?"

The kid looked up at him, his demeanor seeming to falter. After years of torture and abuse, he could _definitely_ tell the difference between the good guys and the others you would call _absolute-fucking bastards._. The kid's perception was off the roof. He looked intensely at Dean's face for a long moment, almost forever, reading every square-inch of his expression. He must have liked what he saw, for his expression seemed to lighten, no matter how small the difference. The distrust in his eyes he felt toward the Winchesters was unmistakable, but it was a start.

"S…Sam."

Dean smiled, suddenly wondering when the kid had found a way past all his defenses, making his way into Dean's heart. How long had it been since he saw the kid on the road? A few hours, and just now he was beginning to talk.

The kid did not return the smile, and he did not expect one.

"That's a cool name. My name's Dean." He stopped momentarily, then pointed to the man behind him. "And this is my father, John."

Sam nodded apathetically. "I know who you are" he seemed to mumble, clearly not meeting there eyes.

Dean questioned him, but the kid just kept looking over the newly placed bandages all over his body, inspecting them, as if making sure they were done correctly. Dean watched as the kid's face seemed to be one of horror. Sam gasped, looking down at his body in what seemed to be shame, maybe even embarrassment.

Dean stared at him incredibly as Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes watering just enough to be visible to the human eye.

Sam slowly backed away, murmuring muffled words to himself as he backed into the wall. Dean's heart seemed to be torn out of his chest as he watched the kid slide down the wall, pulling his legs to his chest. Sam's tears were free-flowing now, which only seemed to hurt Dean all the more.

Dean thought to say something encouraging when he saw Sam also trying to say something.

"Where…where are my clothes?"

Dean stared at Sam, gaping at why he could possibly be crying about wearing only boxers. In front of _guys_! Dean had heard the screaming in his head that there was something more to the story, but he delved no further. He went over to Sam's pile of clothes, picked them up, and handed them to Sam.

Sam took them avariciously. He slid the worn out and torn short over his head, letting it fall into place over his bruised torso. He stood up, making sure not to accidentally run into the older man.

Before putting on his pants, he looked at his left, now distorted hand. Dean watched as Sam's demeanor seemed to lessen, a deep frown now on his features. Putting two and two together, he walked up to Sam slowly, making sure not to _frighten_ him. In itself, the thought seemed preposterous, not only because Sam was on the alert, but also because he was so damn perceptive. Dean would watch his eyes dart at the slightest movement, sending Dean into a vortex of guilt. Whatever the fuck happened to this kid, Dean vowed to make it right.

Dean watched as Sam eyed him. He was _obviously_ very reluctant about the situation, but, in Dean's eyes, he was a little _too_ reluctant. He watched the fire blaze in Sam's eyes, the way he gazed at Dean with the eyes of a hawk, ready to jump at the slightest sense of betrayal. Dean offered a hopefully convincing smile, holding a hand out to take Sam's pants. Sam seemed to sigh, handing Dean the pants with his right hand.

Dean helped him into his pants, which wasn't that hard because the pants were so big on him. After buttoning up the jeans, he moved his hands to the zipper. Sam whimpered, stopping Dean entirely. He moved his hands away, and turned his eyes to Sam's. There is no longer _just_ fear in them. He didn't know how he could describe it. It seemed as though the kid had given up, willing to hand himself to the Devil if need be.

Dean felt a hot pain surge through him as he suddenly took Sam into his arms. It was a one-sided hug, Sam making no move to do anything. He never backed away, yet never took him in. He had an heir of indifference for nearly everything, as if the kid had given up on life. Dean let him go reluctantly, instantly missing the warmth the kid seemed to radiate. He zipped up his pants, and then moved to put his hands on Sam's shoulders.

"Nothing's going to happen to you, okay?"

Sam stayed silent, his eyes dull and lifeless. Dean absent-mindedly wondered what they looked like before Sam was taken away from his parents.

------O------

Dean watched as the kid lay on the bed, sleeping peacefully. He looked so innocent when he slept, _almost_ making Dean feel jealous. At a young age, Dean had never really considered himself innocent. At eleven, he learned how to shoot with any type of gun. A year later, he could shoot just about anything. His past had never allowed him much leeway, which led him to growing up faster, never having the youthful look Sam now wore.

His thoughts drifted to Sam. Did he have a loving family? A tragic one past? Who had beat him up beyond full repair, physically and emotionally. Rage surged through him as questions continued to pop into his head, each one asking of Sam's well-being. He sat at the small table with John, located near Sam's bed, subconsciously nibbling on his burger. It seemed to taste sour, which was just how he felt. He set it down, losing the will to finish the last few bites.

John watched him curiously as he walked over to the bed beside the one Sam is currently occupying. They had shared the bed, leaving John with the bed nearest to the door. It had always been preferred for John, and was done no other way.

"Dad, what are we going to do?"

John finished the rest of his burger, stuffing the last of it in his mouth. After a few chews, he swallowed it. "To tell you the truth, son, right now I have no idea. Once the hunt is over we can take him home."

Dean immediately stood, taking long strides around the room. He rubbed a hand over his face, pulling downward on his features before putting them back in place.

"What if he's been so far from home he doesn't remember where it is? What then?"

"I don't know. Let's just play it by ear. We _will_ get the kid back to his family."

Unknown to the two Winchesters, Sam laid still, alert, as he listened to their ranting.

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HOPE U LIKED IT! I don't really know if you guys like this so it would be great if you all review. If no one does, I'll just stop working on this one and go for something else.....REVIEWS ARE LIKE FUEL FOR A CAR!! THE MORE YOU HAVE OF IT, THE FARTHER YOU CAN GO!!!!!

**P.S.- I'm a maniac with polls!!! Please take the time to answer it! This one is asking you if you like this particular fanfic!! I HAVE to know!!!!!! **

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

REMEMBER TO TAKE MY AWESOME POLL!!!!!!

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did I would have a heart attack and die…..**

* * *

Silent tears ran down Sam's face onto the bedspread. They were going to take him back to his hellhole of a family. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping when he opened them he would be somewhere else. Hesitantly, he opened them, depression swallowing him when he was still on the grungy bed.

How could they _want_ to take him back? Yes, it would be because they didn't want to put up with some stranger, but it would be easier to just throw him in the streets. He would take more effort to get him back to his family, so why do it? _They want you to suffer._ That was the only explanation Sam could think of. Either way, the reasons were irrelevant. Whether the strangers were getting paid to bring him back to _them_ or not, the end result was still the same. On top of the daily abuse, he would be beaten senseless even _more_ because he had attempted to escape.

It took Sam until now to realize his family had always been one step ahead.

He clutched the pillow tightly, stuffing his face into it to muffle his cries. Why was this happening to him? Why did he always have to live in fear for the day his family went over the edge, the day they finally finished him. No matter how hard he tried to block them out, the memories of the past raced into his mind. He felt bile rise in his throat, but he forced it down.

Maybe, just maybe, he could get these people not to take him back.

He removed his head from the pillow, finally ready to get up. Before sitting up, he looked over the smooth material under him, lightly rubbing his hand against it. _Oh my God._ He had never slept on something so comfortable in his life. In the past, the best he ever got was a pile of hay as a bedspread, and a pile of hay as a blanket. Sam felt the overwhelming urge to lie there forever, but these new people would never allow it. He'd probably be beaten to death, and _then_ sent back to his family.

He began the process of sitting up, a white hot pain surging through him from the progress. His brain screamed at him to stop moving, and just stay in that position forever. A hand appeared instantly on his shoulder, and he subconsciously recoiled, expecting a hit.

All that came were two strong hands, hoisting him into a sitting position. He never realized his eyes were screwed tight until he slowly pried them open, the pain gradually being removed from his body. He let out a small sigh of relief.

With wide eyes, he looked to his right to see the man he supposed helped him up. He had short scruffy hair and, by the looks of it, he looked pretty strong, his muscles protruding from his thin t-shirt. His eyes wandered, locking onto the elder of the two, his previous jet-black hair now containing small strings of gray also. They both looked stronger than a bull.

Hunters.

After looking over each face observantly, he recognized the two faces at last. Tentatively, he slowly inched toward the edge of the bed, preparing himself for the ideal of getting up. A hand stopped him, urging him to stay put. He instantly stilled himself, his body not even allowing a shudder of revulsion to escape his body.

The hand disappeared, leaving a warm spot where he had touched him. He internally shivered, now realizing that even with the blanket, he was chilled to the bone. He stayed silent, obeying the man beside the bed. The man, who he knew from the past as Dean, was significantly younger than the black-haired man, John, but had to be no more than twenty-five.

Sam, being only sixteen, was already well-aware of the situation without needing to read their faces. They were going to take him back to his family, then leave with wads of money stuffing out of their pockets. That night, they would bathe in money, getting drunk off their own greed.

The awkward silence did anything but deaden his alertness. He would _not_ go back to his family, not without a fight. He will not stand idly as they drag him to the car, and then allow his body to be used again. Not again.

As he looked into their eyes, however, he didn't see the savage avarice he was expecting from these people. It made no difference in the long run anyway. Even if they thought it was the right thing to do, the outcome's still the same. The only way he could stop them _without_ a fight would be if he told them _why_ he can't back to his family. And at this point, it's just not an option.

-----O-----

Dean stood beside the bed, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Now what? He had to bring up what had happened to the kid, yet, his mouth had gone completely dry. Every time he even attempted, the words would dissolve in his mouth. He didn't know what to say, what to do.

He looked over Sam, and realized some of the kid's wounds were beginning to seep through the gauze he had wrapped the night before. He picked up the first-aid kit, and hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed. The kid recoiled significantly.

"It's okay, all right, Sam? I'm just going to reapply some ointment, and change your bandages."

Sam's rigid posture remained, offering a stiff nod as Dean slid into reach. As he had said he would, Dean carefully applied the ointment onto the scratches and bruises on his arms and face. He looked over at Sam's hand and grimaced. The gauze had turned a dark gray, if not black, color on the outer layer. Being _tremendously_ careful, he removed the kid's bloody bandage and, was given a small, quiet hiss in return.

"Sorry" Dean muttered as he reapplied a fresh bandage on Sam's hand.

Once he was finished, he looked up at Sam expectantly. Sam seemed to understand because he stiffened, now having _way_ too many similarities with that of a statue. Extremely reluctant, the kid slowly took off his shirt, Dean helping him pull it over the top of his head.

He tossed the shirt on the side of the bed and got to work. Most of Sam's wounds were already starting to heal, as if his body has become used to the process of regenerating itself since _birth_. Dean shook of the thought away instantly, now regretting ever doubting the kid's family. He shied away from the tiny portion of his mind screaming at him, solely concentrating on Sam's injuries. The large bruise on Sam's chest has already started to lessen, now appearing a light shade of purple mixed with blue.

Once ointment was added to nearly everything that looked even faintly similar to a wound, he looked back up at Sam, waiting for the signal to continue. Sam tensed, having gone as far as he would go. He shook his head slowly, keeping his hair in front of his eyes to hinder their ability to read the emotions so clearly stated on his face. He sniffed, then rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

Dean _seemed_ to understand, reassuring Sam by giving him a small pat on the back. He immediately regretted it as Sam seemed to withdraw further into himself. Dean's heart seemed to crack from the rejection, but kept up his façade as he walked away from the bed, toward his father. Though he would never understand why, the kid's rejection hurt more than he would dare admit. He had been hoping he could treat him like other brothers would. He was an only child that hunted for more than deer, and he sometimes wished he did it with more than just his father. Yes, he loved his father more than anything; he would even jump in front of a wendigo for him tenfold.

But for some unexplained reason, he would do the same for Sam.

__ _____ ___ ______ ____ _______ _______ _________ ______ ______ _____ _____ ____ ____ __ ____ ___ __ ____ ____ ___

HOPE U LIKED IT! i'm freakishly surprised u guys have liked it so far!! I wasn't sure if this was you guy's cup of tea and, truthfully, I didn't know if it was mine either!! But hey, don't stop now, keep 'em coming!!!

I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked out my other stories!! You might like one, if not both!! =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =)

**P.S.- I'm a maniac with polls!!! Please take the time to answer it! This one is asking you if you like this story!! I HAVE to know!!!!!!**

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! **REVIEWS ARE LIKE FUEL!!!! THE MORE YOU HAVE, THE FARTHER YOU GET!!!!!!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!  
**P.S- I do not have a fish =O

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did I would have a heart attack and die**

**............................................................................................**

As John went to get some breakfast, Dean couldn't help but wish he would hurry up. With the kid, there was so much tension in the small room, like one word out of line would blow everything out of proportion, destroying what little progress Dean had made. But Dean had been cautious, making sure to steer clear of any delicate topics.

Presently, the kid was sitting up in the bed, quiet as a mouse. Dean had touched on small subjects, doing most of the talking. He would comment lightly on things such as the places they've traveled to, where they were headed, and _yes_, even the weather.

Dean began to think of a particularly delicate issue that would not settle well with Sam: the day he found Sam lying on the side of the road. As he thought this, however, he believed that if the kid did talk about it, it may make Sam better deal with the situation. It was obviously a traumatic experience, and sharing it with someone close to him would help soften the blow. But they weren't close. _Not even_ _close_. Dean had met Sam on the side of the road while he was conscious, bloodied and beaten. That could hardly justify as meeting a new friend.

Dean decided he would get Sam to talk at a later hour, with John present. What if he tried to run away? Though Sam was extremely scrawny and small, he didn't doubt the kid's effectiveness with a weapon. Dean had seen the outlines of a pocketknife in his right back pocket the day before. It was a small weapon, but it was there. Dean wondered silently why Sam hadn't used it when he thought Dean and John to be a threat. He would have found the need to protect himself, whether he be outnumbered or not.

In truth, Dean not only had to know, but wanted to, too. Looking at the kid now, fiddling with the blankets resting on him lap, made his mind race to find the scenario that fit his description. He may have been kidnapped a few years back. Was he a random pick or was it something more? Possibility number two could have been that Sam and his family were taken, their captor beating them senseless until they finally escaped, only to be separated once more.

Dean shook with anger, forcing himself to rid himself of such horrid thoughts. With difficulty, he let the thoughts drift off, out of his reach. He decided the only way the kid would start liking him would be to create small talk. Get him to realize Dean wasn't the bad guy.

"How old are you, Sam?"

Sam seemed to jump at the question, the sudden inquiry against the soft silence startling him from his thoughts. He looked up hesitantly, and looked over at the small, insubstantial painting of a llama on the wall across from him.

"Sixteen."

Dean nodded, as if showing his appreciation in the number. Sam saw the movement in his peripheral vision, directing his gaze to see Dean, watching him wobble his head up and down diffidently.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

Dean seemed to flush under the scrutiny, stopping the movement at once. Dean recovered, flashing a bright smile over to Sam.

"I was just sayin', because…you know, I'm nearly twenty-one, and….just noticed we were nearly the same age so…uhh… maybe we could do stuff…together, uhh…yeah." Dean stuttered, at last finding the end of his elongated sentence. He ducked his head, muttering obscenities to himself.

Dean expected to hear sounds of escape, Sam no longer willing to handle the older man's stupidity. He listened intently, ready to snatch the boy when he made a move to the door, preparing to lose some dignity by apologizing for the inappropriate behavior on his part. In truth, the way it had sounded, it was like he were hitting on him fruitlessly, suttering all the while, which he was _so_ not doing.

After a few moments, Dean heard no further noises. He looked up hesitantly, confused when the kid wasn't pissed off and on the run.

Sam's right eyebrow had risen, curved perfectly in a small arch, successfully giving him a mystified look. He was still seated on the bed, looking at Dean with a rather dazed look. He was a bit stiff, but nonetheless there. He was in no way in a position to run, the covers still over his still body, his legs in the same fetal position.

Dean wanted to sigh with relief when the kid made no attempt for escape. Obviously, he hadn't _entirely_ screwed up. The kid must've been gone from a normal, everyday life for so long that he didn't know what getting hit on was like. For the record, however, Dean was _not _hitting on him, his conversation just kind of died in his mouth.

Though, in Sam's earlier days, when he _did _live in a regular society with his parents, by the looks of the kid, he was probably hit on with _a lot_.

Dean smiled at the thought of people all over him. Sam definitely wasn't ugly, even with his injuries. He could imagine the timid little child being liked by every girl in the school, all the females drooling over him for recognition.

His mood darkened. How could someone ruin this kid's life? _This_ kid? The kid that never did anything to anyone, and probably couldn't even hurt a fucking _fly. _Dean's hands transformed into deadly fists, lethal weapons as his nails dug into his skin. Whoever did this to Sam, they were going to pay. No matter what the cost. He would _not_ let them go unpunished.

Dean's face turned red with anger as he began to think through all the kid's injuries. Sam's left hand is probably never to be used again. His ankle was rubbed raw of any flesh that it was previously covered with, which means he was probably chained to something. His anger began to turn into unadulterated hatred, pure and unfiltered. Someone was going to die.

Sam watched in horror as Dean slowly transformed. The older man's dark despair seeped through Sam's body, leaving him a mess. Why was this man angry? Did he do something wrong? Sam decided now was not the time to ponder on what was wrong, but deal with it the appropriately. He had to get out of here. Now.

Sam jumped off the bed. He hissed from the pain, but managed to continue his journey without fail. Dean seemed oblivious to Sam's abrupt movements as he ran to the door. He snatched the knob with his good hand, yanked it open, and nearly threw himself out the door. Why was Dean doing this? Ever since he met the man, he had treated him kindly. Sam gasped. _Maybe too kindly._ He shook all thoughts away, solely focusing on getting the hell out of there. _He's no different. He's just like everyone else._

He ran, not once looking back.

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HOPE U LIKED IT! **I'm ssooo sorry it took me so long to update!! As I have said in my Author's Note previously, I am very busy. I went to the doctor for my right knee yesterday (it's been in pain for a few weeks.) Sadly, the left knee has tendonitis while the right has some weird thing I have no idea about…the doctor's aren't sure what's wrong with it…I'm having an MRI early next week, and may need to have surgery…it's depressing….I'm 15 in need of surgery =(**

I would love u for this lifetime and the next if you went and checked out my other stories!! You might like one, if not both!! =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =)

P.S.- I'm a maniac with polls!!! Please take the time to answer it! This one is asking you if you like this story!! I HAVE to know!!!!!!

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Reviews are like fuel! The more you have, the farther you go!!!!!!!!**

**Remember to take the poll!!**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!**_  
P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O** hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!** Sorry about the super long wait!! But, on the bright side, it's the weekend!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!  
I hope the length of this chapter makes up for the super short chapter I made last time.

Kick back, grab a soda, put some music on, relax, and enjoy the show.

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Sam continued to run, urging his small body into a just as small fortress of trees. It felt like he was in slow motion. No matter how fast he willed his body to move, it wouldn't reach his expectations, not by a long shot. He had to get away from Dean, from the Winchesters. Survival was of utmost importance, as was respiration, and staying with _that_ man was no priority on his list.

He had known the two Winchesters, having met them several years back while his parents had been on a hunt. The Winchesters had found them in a museum being haunted by ghosts, and they had become allies ever sense. Though they don't stay in touch anymore nearly as often as they used to, the two families seemed to have a small bond. A string of friendship seemed to hold them together, tied in a double knot, with glue keeping it all in place.

Sam had not been included in this circle of friends and companionship. As always, he had been thrown aside, having been treated like that of dog shit and if he were lucky, a nice piece of chopped liver. Dean and John seemed aware of his parents' behavior, but Sam could see they wouldn't intervene. They couldn't allow it. It would put a break in the slight companionship the Winchesters and his parents seemed to have. If any word was spoken of Sam's abuse to his mother or father, that single thread of friendship, formed together by nice words and super glue, would be torn, shredded into a million pieces. That, would serve to be _many _problems. They would have more attention focused on little Sammy, having lost the company of two dear friends, just like always. And it would've been all his fault. He would bring the downfall on himself one day. He just hoped he wasn't there when it happened.

By the looks of it, the Winchesters didn't seem to remember him. Of course, Sam had expected this exact behavior from the first like he gave them. Why would they pay attention to a twelve year old with no sense of Who ever made attention to a twelve-year old kid that was no better than a bottle of grape juice.

Sam remembered them. He remembered them too damn well. Those two were the only ones that took his parents in without slamming the door in their face. Their fierce demeanor could make you shit in your pants. If you didn't know any better, you'd think they were demons.

Sam ran straight through the forest, and ended up by the side of an unpaved road. He had no where to go, no one to ask for help. The only people available would be his parents, and that was _not _an option. It was _never _an option. + At the time when he had gone to school, when he was around fourteen, he had managed to befriend a teacher of his. Dr. Beldomb was his name. One day after school, while on the hunt for a werewolf, he had found Dr. Beldomb, poised with a loaded gun in his hands. With closer examination, Sam later found the gun was loaded with silver bullets, which always meant _one _thing. He was a hunter.

Sam and Dr. Beldomb had been friends for about a year, long after Sam had left the school in search for a new hunt. Though it was awkward to have a thirty year old as a friend, he could never label the man as an "acquaintance". He was closer to Sam than thought. The man had saved his life more times than he could count. One of those times was his last. When Sam found out Dr. Beldomb died, he was nothing. He was the only friend Sam ever had. After that, he went back to his usual routine of abuse, in other words, _life. _Back to the task at hand, he looked around the deserted area. He didn't recall ever seeing a place like this. His sense of direction was stupendous, though his parents always seemed to think otherwise. Dumbfounded by his own lack of knowledge, he sat down on the curb. He had no idea what to do next.

He had three choices. One, call his parents which, in truth, wasn't actually an option. He mentally marked that off the list.

Two choices. Start walking and hope to hitchhike his way back to civilization, or two, go back to the Winchesters.

Was the latter actually a _choice_? Why did that God-awful conscience? The man was going to kill him, or just do what his parents would do, which was worse. Much worse.+ No Hamlet, you're wrong again, "to be or not to be" is _not _the question. The question goes more like "to be killed or not to be killed". Definitely needs to be looked in to.

The problem was if Dean was actually going to hurt, if not kill, him. Just days before, Dean had taken him in when he could've just driven on by. He took a lot of his time taking care of Sam, keeping him breathing and healthy. Well, as healthy as he could be, at least.

Sam absentmindedly played with a patch of gauze on his hand. It was patched up as well is it could be, the gauze wrapped around his arm, not too loose but definitely not too tight. The two were definitely good at what they did. Kept that particular thought on his mind as he pondered on the likelyhood of the Winchesters being evil. Yeah, they made no evident attempt to save him from them. "Them" is referring to his parents, though he likes to look at them as monsters. Even with all his pain caused by the Winchesters lack of action, he still couldn't consider them _evil. _Every day they went out risking their lives to save others, whether it be from supernatural entities or overly-vicious cats. They did it all.

Sam was beginning to deflate, his anger suddenly leaving him. How could he have just left? The image of Dean's fists clenched, his face red as a tomato, scared Sam, as much as he hated to admit it. But, right now, they were the closest thing he had to family, even though they were far from it. His parents couldn't hold a candle to Dean and John when it came to parental help. He'd choose them over _them _anyday of the week.

He was contemplating on going back when he heard a car's engine. Whoever it had been, they were heading his way. Sam thought to hide, but found his body incapable of any such movement. His own body betrayed him as he panicked, bile coming up into his throat. What if that was his parents, coming back for him at last? He knew the day would come where he was forcibly taken back, bu how could it have been so soon? Did Dean and John locate him and tell his parents?

Sam felt his heart break in half, only to be repaired to its original form two seconds later. He hadn't recognized the sleek blackcar, but he sure as hell recognized the driver. Dean. His heart pitter-pattered, even did a few backflips. Was Dean actually looking for him? For _him?_ "Why?" you would ask.

Who the hell knows.

Dean seemed to have instantly spotted Sam sitting on the curb because he swerve his car next the Sam, parallel to the edge of the road. Dean jumped out of the car, like he was the main act in some circus, and ran to sit next to Sam. He seemed stunned, and slightly dumbfounded. Whether it be because he actually found the kid or that he hadn't run away, Sam didn't know. He didn't rightly care.

Sam offered Dean a small, shy smile, which was returned by a full-blast, ear-to-ear grin. The grin seemed to fade, the wrinkles from his smile fading as he realized the situation was anything but funny. It had been his fault.

_No, Sammy, it's your own damn fault. You're the own that's too fucking paranoid for your own good._

Sam ignored the voice in his head speaking the truths he just _really _didn't want to hear. Dean was fully facing Sam now with arms wide open, ready for giving comfort by that of a hug, before returning his hands to his side, a bright pink hue appearing on his cheeks. Though Dean had no idea what Sam had been through in his life, he seemed to be unconsciously aware that the gesture was not wanted, nor needed. Not after all he's been through.

Dean had decidely settled on comfort via words, because any physical contact would be losing ground, and that was something he couldn't afford. Even Sam knew that.

"I'm really sorry, Sam. God, I'm so damn sorry." Dean cupped a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes and nose in an exhausted manner. The meaning of his words was obvious, but it was the depth of them that caught Sam off-guard. His voice and expressions were tainted by a mask of detachment he has worn for much too long, it seems, and was slowly fading away. It's surface had finally cracked, and Sam could see through it just enough to read the vitality of his words. He was self-conflicted, blaming himself for everything he _could've _lost. His voice emotional and pained. Dean was too sad to be embarassed.

Though Sam was against physical contact, he allowed his brain to place his hand over Dean's, offering any comfort he could manage, without breaking, of course. It was damn hard, too.

"There's nothing to feel sorry for. I was paranoid. I overreacted." Sam offered a sad smile, which Dean tried to return, but he looked more constipated than anything else. Sam wiped away any signs of laughter from his expression as he looked at Dean. His eyes were soft, yet made hard by the life he chose to lead. Kicking supernatural ass was exhausting, Sam knew just as well as he. Dean had a bruised color under his eyes, earned by days that were just too difficult for any normal human to endure. The hand under his own was warm and callouse, the guns he's handled in his day effecting his hands, and outlook toward life. It tore at Sam like a disease, a malignant illness leaving him immobile. He felt stiff, the sadness yet sure warmth he felt coming off Dean like a tidal wave, reflecting off his own body.

This man was no killer.

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hope u enjoyed this chapter. I realize it has taken me nearly a week to update, and i truly am sorry. I am currently TEMPORARILY stopping my softball practices, now staying at home and keeping my leg elevated. Homework has been piling up this week, and it's disastrous. I got a 50 on my Math homework because I didn't know the directions were to graph the slope, which was DEFINITELY not my fault.....UGHHH!!!!

Anyway, I apologize yet again for the inconvience. I can't promise anything, but I think I will be able to update more often because I have more free time wih softball out of the way. I really enjoy writing. I'm pretty young for thinking about things like this, but I would love to become a writer one day. Just sit on your ass all day and write about _anything. _Sounds fun right???

As I have been told recently by a review, I will NOT beg for reviews. You want to review, then review. Otherwise, kick back, drink some caffeine, read it (or not), and mve on. Though reviews have always helped in the past, I will force no one to right one just for my sake. However, I'm not telling you_ not _to write them, because I truly do enjoy reading them.

Thanks for all your reviews and, if not, thanks for reading!!

P.S- I got a poll on my profile! (only one person has voted so far....) =(


	7. Chapter 7

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**_______________________**

They drove back home in silence in Dean's Impala, with Sam in the passenger seat, Dean driving them home. Words were no longer necessary; everything that needed to be said at _that_moment was accounted for. There was no need toruin the moment.

Sam stayed seated in the passenger seat, lightly tracing his fingers along the side of the car door. He couldn't recall ever being in a car like this. Not only was the exterior nice, but the insides were kept scarily clean. There were no empty bottles in the cup holders, no papers at his feet. It was spotless. Sam remembered when he was allowed into a car. It wasn't too often, but when he was allowed, he wasn't thrilled. He was restricted from any nice car, and was only allowed in pieces of crap that should have been renamed "shit on a stick". Sam admired the car, he really did. He could sense that it was pretty obvious, too, with Dean glancing back at him every so often, a big grin on his face. Sam smiled in return, looking out the window with something like admiration. He could actually _see _through the window.

They arrived at the motel to find that John's black truck was already in the parking lot, placed in front of the Winchester's room. Dean and Sam got out of the Impala, and walked out to Dean's motel. Dean did three quick knocks on the door, possibly some indicator to reveal his own presence. No more than a second later, the door was flung open with such ferocity Sam could feel the gush of wind on his face. He almost thought a troll had somehow entered their room and was planning on escape that was no longer possible.

Inside the room stood John, red-faced and pissed as hell. His hands were clench into fists, then swiftly unclenched, then clenched. This was about the only movement that went on for quite awhile. Dean seemed to be as stunned as Sam as they all but stared at the older man like he was now transforming into his lizard form, which only occurred every 20,000 years.

"Holy fuck, Dean. Do you realize how _scared _I was. You didn't leave a note, you didn't call me. You just _fucking_left! I thought something happened to you!"

Sam decided to ignore the fact that John had solely been speaking to Dean. He just kept still, his mouth sealed with nearly a thousand zippers placed over it for extra protection.

John continued muttering obscenities under his breath as he left the front door open to walk further into the small room. Dean followed, then Sam, into the petite room.

"Listen, Dad, I'm _really _sorry. I had to-"

Sam watched as he stammered mid sentence, abruptly coming to a halt. A hitch in the road. From Sam's perspective, he was surprised at Dean's decision to keep quiet. He didn't seem to want to throw Sam to the lions; he was trying to protect him. Dean didn't want his father to know that Sam had tried to escape, that he almost lost him "because of him". Sam knew it was his own fault, but Dean didn't seem to even consider it. He all but threw it on his own shoulders, taking the brunt of the guilt when, in actuality, it was all Sam being fucking paranoid.

Sam watched as Dean tried to regain composure, and John attempting to understand what he was trying so hard to say. Dean seemed deep in thought, yet truly in the moment as he thought up an excuse. It was obvious he didn't want to show John how weak Sam was.

Sam felt the sudden urge to stab himself in the eye. Since he was a little kid he had _always _known he was weak. Not only had his parents told him nearly everyday, but it was a given. He didn't need to be told he was a freak for it to be any less true. He was different. Simple as that. Physically, he wasn't worth much; he was small and scrawny. He was such a small package, it was only a matter of time before Dean started getting tired of making excuses for Sam's dumbass behavior. He shouldn't have decided to come back. Soon, he wouldn't be wanted anymore.

Dean seemed adamant, however, on thinking up a reason that would seem believable to his father. Because they were hunters, they had to be excellent liars, and excellent at detecting lies. No Hamlet, "to be or not to be" is no longer the question in this scenario. The questions was, which of the Winchesters was better, Dean or John? Sam's vote swayed toward John, what with more experience and cunning a hunter can have. He was the big guy, the leader of the pack, dragging around slackers like Sam to use and abuse when he got bored.

"It was my fault. I tried to leave." As the words left Sam's mouth, he almost tried to suck in his breath, hoping the words flowed back int his mouth before they could even have occurred. His outburst was a surprise to even himself. His thousand zippers on his mouth seemed to have vanished, leaving him open for speech. He didn't let his own astonishment show on his face or body language. They weren't the only ones who could lie.

Both John and Dean appeared just as astonished as Sam felt. Their mouths dropped an inch or two, both probably unaware of the occurrence. Sam acted indifferent, not reacting to their bemused expressions.

After getting out of his stupor, John just nodded, then walked into the kitchen. Somehow, he had seemed to sense the tension in the room, and got out before it became absolutely unbearable.

For one reason or another, Sam felt better with John out of the room. It felt like he could finally breathe without being hovered over, though John had been doing just the opposite. Maybe he just felt claustrophobic with too many people in his vicinity, like they would try something if he wasn't watching them at all times of the day. And night.

With the older man gone, the only person he had to watch out for was Dean, and he doubted he would actually try something. However, due the past experiences, he believed in staying cautious at _all _times. Because of this, he kept Dean in his peripheral vision all the while as he looked around the room. John had entered the kitchen to his right, which was interconnected the room yours truly was currently occupying. As his eyes wondered to a small crack in the wall, he felt Dean's gaze boring into his head. Sam squirmed internally from the man's stare, but, for the most past, managed to keep his cool.

Why was Dean looking at him? No, _staring _at him? Was he expecting to get some before the night was over? Sam cringed, cowarding into his body. _Nothing _was going to happen tonight. Not if he could help it.

He mentally smacked himself. Showing weakness was something that could be used against him. Dean already had a good idea he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but that didn't mean he had to go proving his point further. Sam unwound his body, uncoiling similar to that that of a cobra. Like one, he was also ready to strike at any unwanted movement on Dean's part.

He threw a quick glance at Dean. His eyes seemed to be swimming with angst. He wasn't angry, nor was he gleaming with anticipation. He was just...sad. That's all. No emotions were splayed on his face that could be seen by thehuman eye. Sam's face fell drastically as he continued to watch Dean, as if he had taken a pill with side effects of drowsiness and depression. This whole time, ever since he had escaped, he had been plotting all the possible scenarios, all the points at which escape was possible. Why he did so, he didn't know. Hadn't Dean provenmultiple times that he wasn't the enemy? In truth, he didn't even know he had been doing any planning; that he had just been going with it. His mind seemed to do all the work for him without being told, like it wasn't a part of his body anymore. A whole new being. It worked on instinct, locating all possible exits with futile effort and marking all potential weapons with a keen eye. He saw it all clearly, like a machine in his brain was marking anything useful with an indicator that bleeped every few seconds to remind him it was there when the time came.

What surprised him most though, not only was his mind scheming against him, but, if Dean didn't want to fuck, and he didn't want to hit him, then what _did _he want? Those two things were all Sam was good at. Yes, he was smart, no, a_ genius, _but what goodwhat that do him? "Oh, I need to find out what the formula for a non-stoichiometriccompound is and the French word for 'taco'. I'm going on Jeopardy so if you could help me that would be great." Not exactly what Sam would consider plausible at this point.

Maybe Dean was helping Sam out because he actually cared for his well-being. It was highly unlikely, but still possible. Sam thought he would never live to see the day man was nice to his fellow citizens, but who was he fooling? How many people out there are actually flat-out_ good. _No shades of would the ratio for that be? 1:100. Sadly, this seemed fairly accurate.

Sam stole another glance Dean's way. He appeared closer than he had been, but was just as depressed, maybe even more so. Just liking at him made him want to burst. No one had wanted to help before without getting paid first.

"You okay, Sam?"

Sam just turned his gaze to floor. How was he supposed to answer that? He could take the easy way out, just tell the man he was fine and move on. Or he could get more in depth, tell Dean he was having some trouble, but would work it out eventually. For a reason unexplainable to God himself, he felt the urge to tell Dean _everything_. He felt as though all the pain in his gut would burst, bodily fluids flying all over the room, which would then lead to Sam, or what's left of him, to clean it all up. Though the probability of that occuring was slim to none, he wanted, _needed, _someone to talk to. And, even if he would never admit it, he couldn't help but see Dean as a brotherly figure. Dean was eager help, to get him out of the mess he had created for himself.

Sam did a slight shake of the head, which led Dean to walk over to Sam's seated position on the bed. He seat down next to Sam, but hesitated as he inched further into Sam's bubble. It was pretty damn big.

Dean now sat an arm's length away from the distressed Sam. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam shivered, but slowly relaxed to the touch. Sam suddenly felt cold everywhere except where Dean's hand lay on his shoulder. The heat was being distributed through his entire body, instantly ridding Sam of his chill.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The moment of truth. Did he want to talk about his horrid past to a near stranger? _Could _Sam do it? Sam's heart pounded hard against his chest as he stared into Dean's eyes. They offered a sort of comfort he didn't even know existed. Deep down, Sam knew he wanted to tell Dean. He wanted so bad to, but how would he take it, when he finds out about the _real _Sam? Would he look at Sam with a gaze of hatred, never again offering the help Sam so desperately needed? Never offering the gaze at which he was now giving Sam? Would he be taken back to his parents? He tore his eyes from Dean's. Ducking his head, he successfully veiled all possible emotions splayed over his face.

Despite all the reasons against his better judgement, Sam nodded.

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I hope that was okay. I never got the time to re-read it so im prayin that it sounds okay. I'm also hoping it could be seen as a slight cliffy and, if i wrote it correctly, it will leave you wanting more. Not sure, i'll just have to see.

i would also like to address the that i have never had a beta and all mistakes or, what i like to call "crap-ups", are my own.

didn't take me as long to update. I started on friday and ended it write after the super bowl. We had a big party at me and my family's house and it was huge!!! I had to laugh when there was the occasional "OOHHHH!!!!" or "YYEEESSSSS!!!!!" You had to be there...I have to admit, however, no matter how reluctantly, that i wasn't paying too much attention to the game. I was ACTUALLY thinking about fanfiction. 1) i have several ideas of where this story will go but im having trouble deciding how i want it _exactly. _2) im trying to think of why my poll is not working. It seems, due to reviews, that people ARE voting, but it just doesn't work. I tried making another, with the same info, but, after plenty of punches to the wall, it was still unsuccessful. MISSION FAILURE. **However, if you would still like to have your vote accounted for you can let me know via email or review!!** Thanks for reading!

oh, one more thing, i have a question that, if you do review, i would love some insight on. Do I repeat words too often? Like, i think i use "however" and "though" a lot. I'm really not sure but i was just curious because as i was writing this i wasn't sure how it would sound to the reader.....anyway, thanks for any help u got on that matter

I LOVE U ALLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	8. Chapter 8

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!**_  
P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O**

hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

The instant he offered a small nod Sam felt a strange feeling in his gut. He did not regret his decision, not one bit, even if it could very possibly be ridding him of any freedom. He was well-aware that, if this confrontation didn't work out smoothly, he would be on the streets yet again or worse, back home. Despite that fact, his stomach seemed to praise the sensation he was getting, waves of freshness roaming all over his body, tickling him in ways he could never have experienced. Is this what happiness felt like?

Dean seemed just as happy as Sam did when he watched Sam's nod, unhesitant and determined. Dean still had a remote look of sadness and remorse etched in his face, no matter how hard he tried to cover it. His face appeared even the slightest bit droopy, the bags under his eyes darker than Sam remembered. He hadn't even told his story and it was taking a toll on Dean.

Should he back out while he still can?

The answer, as it always had been, was no. Sam had known that from the beginning. It would pain Dean as it would pain Sam to reoccur such unwanted memories, but it had to be done; though Sam would take the brunt of it, no doubt, seeing how they were _his _memories that he so desperately wanted to forget, no matter how much his mind denied him that pleasure. He knew he would never rid himself of his horrid, defiling nightmares, which turned out to be his life. He had to do this, though. If he was going to be completely honest with the two Winchesters, he had to start where it all began.

At home.

Just as he was about to begin his story, a loud honk echoed through the small room. It appeared to have come from outside, but neither Sam nor Dean were sure. They inched over to the window to get a peak, curiosity instantly getting the better of them.

Outside a car, or what could pass for a car, was parked in the parking lot of the motel. The engine was running, and a couple occupied the car; the man handling the driving, clearly to the woman's dismay, while the she sat idly in the passenger seat. They seemed harmless as they got out of the car, which would be much more accurate to be titled "shit on a stick".

They may have seemed harmless at first sight, yet they walked with a purpose, and not just to get a room. Dean watched with mild suspicion as they neared the tattered motel. They seemed vaguely familiar, he just couldn't seem to put his finger on it.

John had now joined them, peering over Sam's rather useful height with ease to look through the window at the couple. John didn't find them recognizable in the slightest, and walking back to the kitchen. "Dad, don't we know them?" came Dean as he stared at the couple in bewilderment and what seemed to be awe. John backtracked right before he entered the kitchen area. Hadn't he just crossed out the possibility of their being acquaintances? He headed back over to the window once more to get a better look at the two. He hated being wrong.

The woman's dark hair was cropped, no longer than her shoulders, rather, nearer to the lower part of her earlobes. Her sharp jaw bones and broad shoulders seemed to indicate the type of person she was; business-like and elegant. She may have been wearing large sunglasses over her eyes, but John could almost feel her ferocious gaze as she assessed the motel. She eyed it with what seemed to be utter disgust and unadulterated anger. Yeah, it was a bit dirty but it wasn't the _motel's _fault. The woman reminded John of a feline, poised to strike. She wasn't big in the slightest, maybe even anorexic, but he figured she could hold her own just fine. Her posture, full of astute confidence, gave it away. And if that didn't, he didn't know what else would.

The man was anything but small, in opposition of the woman beside him. His burly figure could be caught a mile away and without sunglasses, he remind John more of a beast. His eyes were intimidating as hell, though John would never _ever _admit it. His short black hair was slicked back in a professional manner, though John had to guess that what he was doing was anything but professional. The man's posture also exuded confidence and prestige, something that only wealthy men could afford to wear like good cologne. He eyed is surroundings with malice, not only was he appalled by the motel but by...

Actually, John wasn't sure what else. What else _could _he be angry about? Sure, though they looked a _little _similar at second glance, he didn't know what their life was like. They might always be like this, pouty and vicious.

Maybe it was just the couple's surroundings that was getting to them. Their car may have been a piece of shit, but something told John they weren't used to driving that kind of car around, lugging the crap anywhere. Of course, his guess only applied if clothes and posture was anything to go by. Maybe it was the motel lot that made them crinkle their noses in displeasure; it _was_ excruciatingly messy, even to the point of rapid sneezes for a whole minute and a half. But the look the big man gave was something neither John nor Dean could put their finger on. What else could he feel inferior about?

John didn't have time to think much else until it was too late; the two were lined up, side by side, standing at their front door. He looked over at Dean hastily and rose an eyebrow, who only shrugged in return, a look of astonishment on his face. John had a feeling his face mirrored the same damn thing.

The man rang the door bell. John could almost feel the man's impatience seeping through the cracked door and into the house, like an odor that needed to be extinguished.

That was when it clicked. These people were no strangers. He gave a wide smile that reached from ear to ear; they were his comrades. Dean seemed to have come to the same conclusion a second after, a wry smile on his face.

"The Lautners?" Dean asked excitedly. John nodded, his stomach knotting itself up. He was surprised at how anxious he felt that they were here, at his doorstep. Though, he wasn't sure why they would be here. It had been nearly two years since they'd parted ways. Were they in some sort of trouble? At that moment, however, it didn't matter much. He'd get his answers soon enough.

He opened the front door, a squeaking noise wailing with the prehistoric door's movement. John beamed at the two, which the couple seemed to return almost too gleefully. It was strange how, when they were walking to the door, they were unhappy, even angry. Yet, now that they were face to face, it seemed to be fake somehow, illuding, like they had to put on a couple of translucent masks to veil their true emotions, hiding their actual face in the place of happy ones.

He didn't call them on it and decided they'd tell him when the time came. He ushered them in, once again, after so many years, introducing them to Dean. Dean nodded eagerly, shaking each of their hands firmly, in strong remembrance of their companionship.

"So what can we do for you?" John asked after all the greetings crawled to an end.

"Actually, we need your help" said the woman. Her face saddened several degrees yet it still didn't look completely genuine. John shook it off. Damn, he was getting old and so were his instincts.

"Shoot" Dean replied instantly. He seemed eager to help after all those years of lack of contact.

"Well...our child is missing, and we think it's due to something... paranormal."

Dean's hardened, eager for a challenge. John, however, wasn't _quite _as certain as his son. Dean was quick, but with age, you get quicker. John tried to put all the pieces together, but there was a piece missing, leaving the puzzle unfinished and unsolved.

0000000000000

Dean fisted his hands in his lap, finally prepared for some action. It's been quite some time since he's killed supernatural ass, even before finding Sam on the side of the road.

_Sam._

Dean looked around the room frantically, nearly breaking his neck as he turned it this way and that. Where the hell was Sam? He backtracked in his mind all the major occurences of the day. He specifically remembered Sam had been there when they went to look out the window at the time the Lautners , at some point during that time, he felt the warmth leave his body, which had to have been when Sam disappeared. He had just not investiagted the chill he felt run down his spine, as he had decided it was some breeze...in a contained area. God_damn _it.

"Dean? Dean, what the the hell's wrong with you?"

"Where's Sam?"

John went stark white as he seemed to mull it over in his mind. Dean didn't wait for an answer, nor did he wait to see a reaction from the Lautners. He burst off the grungy couch, rampaging through the room, nearly screaming his name from the adrenaline rush.

No response.

After searching the kitchen, he reached the bathroom door. No longer in the mood for knocking, he nearly propelled himself through the door, sweat dripping down his face.

There lay Sam, curled in a ball at the corner of the room, silent tears streaking his face. If Dean hadn't known better, he would've thought he was just a little kid that lost his popsicle. The kid looked so genuienly _lost_, like he wouldn't live to see another day. It struck a cord deep inside him, leaving him speechless. The kid was hurt, pained. Broken.

He tried to get his legs to inch toward Sam, but no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn't lift themselves off the floor. What was wrong with him? Sam needs his help and he's just standing there, a finger up his ass. His mouth went dry. Dean licked them lavishly as he tried to moisten them, but only seemed to cause more pain in his heart and Sam's. Sam had watched him, and for some reason unknown to man, he visibly cringed. Was he afraid of tongues?

Dean, after much struggle and turmoil, finally managed to get his legs on the same page as his brain. He edged toward Sam with deliberately slow movements, holding his hands up for reassurance as Sam stared at him with unfocused eyes.

Dean couldn't break, not now. He couldn't afford to lose control of his emotions. Sam attempt to scoot further away from Dean, but it was a futile attempt. He was up against the wall, ramming his small frame into the dirty wall. He was human, just like everyone else, and they had _never _been capable of walking through walls.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sam. It's me, Dean. You remember me, don't you?"

The tension in Sam's body appeared to lessen as his shoulders uncoiled from the tightness in the muscles. Sam nodded to Dean slowly. No matter how at peace Sam usually was with Dean, this was definitely not one of those times. He wasn't scared of him, which was a good sign, but he made no recognition of _why _he was doing this.

_He must be afraid of strangers. He isn't in his right mind quite yet. _

Wrong again, Deanie-boy.

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hope that was an enjoyable chapter for you peeps!!!!

I get to go to the Shakespeare Festival tomorrow, FINALLY, during school for the play "The Comedy of Errors". It was an ingenius play, and absolutely hilarious to read. --that was pretty random info, was it not???

Anyway, as i said last chapter, **my poll is not working**so the only way to communicate your **vote is by email or review**!! PLZ, if u want ur vote 2 count u must let me know!!

**POLL: SHOULD I PUT ALL OTHER STORIES ON HIATUS EXCEPT "FOUND IN TIME"???  
---plz let me know....possibly just add it to a review or something....maybe if u could include ur fav stories so far (made by yours truly) it would help out a lot!! thanks so much! **


	9. Chapter 9

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!**_  
P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O**

not only do i have no beta but i also never double checked it because i was in a bit of a hurry! Sorry for the inconvenience! hope u like it!!!!!  
**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**WARNING: this chapter is a bit darker than the previous ones. It partially has to do with Sam's religious beliefs which, given the circumstances, aren't great. Please don't take any of this to heart. If you believe in God, then good for you. (Also, there may be "contradictions" of how God doesn't exist but don't delve to deep into it. It's just a story) **

**____________________________________**

Sam lay curled up on the bathroom floor, shoving his body into the wall until he could feel the bruises appear on his back. Why was he doing this? This is _Dean_, not his parents. He may have only known him for a week, if not less, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Dean wanted what was best for _him._ Yet, if that were the case, why did he call his parents? Why would he throw him to the lions, after all this time.

A tear fell down his cheek and, for once, he didn't want to act strong. He let the tear roll down his chin, landing on the collar of his shirt. He didn't care anymore. He'd end up going back with his parents, and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it. Yes, he wouldn't just _hand _his body over to them to allow himself to be treated as a personal bitch, but he knew any attempt of escape would just be wasting time. That he could afford to lose.

It was times like these that Sam wished he had never been born. These aren't exactly rare occasions for this train of thought. Life was hard, and there were times that you just couldn't escape the storm as it comes rushing toward you. Sometimes all you could do was let it take you, and pray that you would land on soft ground when you finally hit. Not that he actually prayed.

Sam used to pray, way back when he believed God actually cared. Everyday for nearly three years he would sit in his bed, be he alone or with...company, and he would pray. He would pray his heart out to a God that didn't listen. To the God that sat on His pedestal, smiting anyone and everyone he felt needed a lesson. It was like He was the only real human, and the rest of the "humans" were just ants, pawns. God would hold a magnified glass to them and shiver with delight as all the ants slowly shriveled up and died.

That was the God Sam believed in, and he'd be damned if he ever prayed again. Praying never got him anywhere. If anything, it made the situation to for the worse; whether his parents actually caught him praying or if it was just another one of God's many presents sent from above.

Because of the bastard upstairs, ruling over the world, he was in this predicament. Because of Him, he was in no circumstance that he could get himself out of in one piece. Dean and John were possibly working for his parents and now he had no one to turn to, no one to ask for help. He felt like his heart was being weighed down by a fucking school. He couldn't do this anymore. He just couldn't. If he ended up back at his house he didn't know what he'd do. Probably kill himself. He ducked his head in between his knees and cried.

The pain hit him, and it hit hard. He was gasping for breath, trying to swallow up all the air before it left him, and before he knew it everyone was watching him. _Everyone. _John had entered the bathroom and, behind him, his parents stood at the entrance. They masked their true emotions, showing only concern and dread. Deep down, Sam knew exactly what they were thinking, and it wasn't good.

He broke eye contact they instant he locked eyes with his father. His anger was clearly palpable, but he felt Dean would be too naïve to know the difference. Yes, just by looking at him Sam could tell Dean was a great hunter. And, like every other hunter, Dean has gone through some rough patches in life but, overall, he saw good in the world. The only reason the supernatural were bitches was because of their treatment in their previous life. Yeah, that meant their "treatment" was probably from humans, but that's not the way Dean seemed to look at it. If you grabbed a handful of people, the majority of them would be good, genuine people. That's what humans were for, right? One can't live without the other, so why hate?

Sam could answer that so fucking easily. He looked over to Dean as a sudden recognition filled his eyes. Did he finally find out, after all this time? Dean's eyes narrowed as he thought everything over. His lips squeezed together, his hands balled into fists as his knuckles turned white. Sam decided the light bulb finally came on for Dean.

Seconds later, Dean's face became completely indifferent, hiding all further emotions behind the mask he called his face. That was something Dean was good at hiding. Though, after all these years, Sam was _much _better at seeing than he was at hiding.

Dean's face seemed to sag downward in a way that basically said "Shoot me or I'll do it myself." He didn't know how a single emotion could convey something so profound, but he went with it. Dean's bruised skin under his eyes stuck out against his now pale skin; like a light everywhere, engulfing anything in it's path, with just a smidge of darkness here and there, that would eventually overcome not only the light, but the rest of the world as well.

Sam's realized the dark thoughts he was currently thinking was something of irony. Soon all he would live in was darkness. The only light he had ever seen were the Winchesters. Now he was going to be taken from them, and all he'd be left with was more darkness; a black abyss full of nothing but the voided world that ceased to exist.

He didn't want to live like that, not anymore. Now that Dean _and _John seemed to sense something was up, would they do something about it?

_No._Was the immediate answer in his head.

He had thought wrong.

Dean sent a subtle reassurance Sam's way, a silent recognition of the situation. Sam felt anything but reassured at this point, but went along with it anyway. He watched as Dean turned around to face Sam's parents. With utter carefulness, and a hint of suppressed anger, he asked "Is this your son?"

The two nodded, not in the least bit frightened. They had no right to be. Not yet. Sam could see the fire in Dean's eyes, a roaring flame that threatened everything that proved a hazard. What stunned him most was how his parents didn't see the hint of the deadly gaze Dean was throwing at them. Have you ever seen something that no one else seemed to pick up on? Like having some sort of revelation that could change your life forever, yet everyone seemed oblivious to it when you thought it was _so _obvious.

That's how Sam felt. In his eyes, Dean's emotions could be interpreted as nothing but malice, pure unadulterated malice. Yes, Dean's mask hid a great deal and conveyed a lot less than what he probably felt, but it was still there for everyone to deal with as he/she pleased. His parents seemed completely oblivious to Dean's inner turmoil and just nodded with a hint of anger of their own. They were getting impatient. They had probably planned it all out; a quick in and out.

Lucky for Sam, the Winchesters weren't giving him up that easily.

Dean nodded in understanding. "Maybe you should come back later. After he's calmed down a bit." The tone of his voice sounded like daggers being thrown to the Lautner's, swiftly piercing their throats. They were once again oblivious, however, and Sam was left stunned yet again. It was so _obvious_. Was he so different from everyone else that he could somehow _feel _someone else's emotions.

Dean, unaware of Sam's internal interrogations, continued to stare at them unblinking, turning his gaze from the mother, then the father, then back again to the mother. He did this several times, waiting for a response. They finally seemed to get a clue at the situation. The two looked at each other, seeming extremely reluctant at this point. From what Sam could see, they hadn't brought any weapons with them. They probably hadn't even thought they would need to. As Sam said, just a grab-and-go kind of thing. Turns out it didn't happen that way.

Sam felt the urge to smile. For now, his parents were giving up, which was a rare occasion in and of itself. However, he knew them more than he'd like to think. They'd come back later, unexpectedly snatching up their son and flying out of sight.

That pretty much ruined his sudden, unexpected good mood. His parents may have lost the battle, but they'd no doubt win the war. It was a law of nature. And it all went back to the God "watching over everyone". If He hadn't been so biased, he may have been lucky enough for God to spare him. That, however, was never going to be the case, so he might as well get used to it.

Maybe there was no God, and it was just life itself that held the magnified glass in one hand, a horadric staff in the other. After all, there _are _contradictions of Christianity. God was supposed to love everyone equally, yet "his people" were the Jews; that much was stated in the Bible. What is that supposed to even mean? He loves everyone the same but he loves the Jews most? Is that not contradiction in and of itself? And the gay, homosexuals of the world. Sam had nothing against them, not in the slightest. All the gay people he was an acquaintance with were great people, but is that how God feels? Sam long ago read the Bible, searching for the meaning of such betrayal he felt as a child. In Genesis, he read of the story of Sadom and Gomorrah. It was tough, reading it. In a nutshell, the whole city of Sadom was full of homosexuals, save for four people; Lot, his wife, and two sons. His memory was a bit hazy, having read it so long ago, but he was pretty sure _everyone _died, except Lot and his family, of course. They had been smited by God, burnt to a crisp before His eyes. He probably laughed.

And just to add the sprinkles on top of a wonderful ending, He had told Lot and his family that if they turned back to watch the city of Sadom burn, they would be punished. Lot's wife, forgetting His heed, looked back at her hometown in longing.

She was turned to dust.

If God was so loving and caring like everyone said, how could he even think to do something so vial? The more he thought, the given evidence was of Him being fake, but of Him being cruel. A cruel, vicious ruler, a dictator to His people. In Noah's Ark, he had flooded everyone except Noah, save _lots _of animals. Why would he kill everyone except _one_? What was so good about Noah that made him stand out from the rest? Sam felt envy rise in his stomach. Why couldn't he be more like Noah? The perfect little soldier that didn't have to worry about anything except remembering to feed the animals on occasion.

And Moses. Oh, _God, _Moses. He was the one who lead everyone through the desert to the Promised Land. Yet, after all the work he had done, it was all for not. And no, not because he was bitten by a poisonous snake or died from old age. Oh no, it was from God himself. Moses had had to provide food for his people, so God told him to hit a particularly large rock once, that it would produce manna and quail for his people. Moses hit the rock _twice_, which seemed to enrage the Lord Almighty, the _forgiver _of _all _sins. But not this one. For the rest of his existence, Moses was forced to walk through the desert as everyone else lived in the Promised Land, all because he hit a fucking rock two times.

What if Moses just wanted to hit the rock to ask for seconds? Maybe he was extra hungry and was sending God a sign that everyone else was, too. Maybe Moses was feeling especially anxious and had to let it out by attacking that particular rock.

Whatever the reason, for any of it, he didn't really care. It all effected him indirectly, conveying to Sam not to assault a rock without the permission from a certain someone. In other words, he couldn't do anything without every step he made, every breath he took, being monitored by his own personal nightmare.

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I realize it ended a little abruptly and I'm sorry about that!! I'm also curious to see how you guys felt about Sam's beliefs. Did I put it on too strong; with too much inside Sam's head and not enough actually happening? Was the information just boring to read or was it good? **Insight would definitely help with this chapter; I would LOVE to know for future reference!!!**

Also, as i said at the beginning of the chapter, I have no beta and I never double-checked this chapter. I was in a hurry to get it updated and didn't want to take any longer in getting it up.

_**HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!! UNTIL NEXT TIME!!**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!**_  
P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O**

Once again, I have no beta. Sorry for the inconvenience. hope u like it!!!!!

Not super lengthy but hopefully it'll do.

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

For what seemed like days, Sam had watched them, all standing over him as they talked amongst themselves, only offering Sam an occasional glance. It seemed like even more days when, at long last, they all headed to the door, leaving Sam on the bathroom floor. Dean sent Sam a quick glance of reassurance. He had managed to convince Sam's parents into a temporary leave; hell, he nearly threw them out of the door as a good farewell. Not that Sam wasn't grateful, of course.

Dean shut the door behind him as he ran long, slim fingers through his short hair. He looked more than a little exhausted, and it sure as hell showed. Sam further inspected the way Dean's upper lip seemed to be twitching furiously. Was it out of anger? Sam couldn't be sure, as for the fact he didn't feel the need to ask. Dean thrust his hands into his pockets, locking his eyes onto a ball of lint located at his feet. He seemed to have headed to a place far from here, far from everything. A place where fairies danced in the moonlight and sang beautiful tunes, soothing all human pain. A place where no pain could enter, a place so profound not even Satan himself could corrupt. A place Sam would gladly join.

Sadly, however, he couldn't hide from the truth, nor could Dean, or anyone else for that matter. This was his life, and there was nothing, _nothing, _that could let him forget that. After all, it was all that existed for him. This, right here, was all he had ever known, all he had ever grown accustomed to.

Based on Sam's observations over the past couple of years, a lot of people tend to enjoy the little phrase "Life goes on". Sam, on the other hand, likes to shove that quote up people's asses and tell them to fuck off. If you have been through something so traumatic, so devastating, how could you possibly live your life like it never happened? More often than not, that trauma and that devastation will swallow you whole, leaving you as nothing but a living corpse, if not a dead one. Instead of trying to force it into the back of your mind, forget about it, and move on, you should confront it, come to terms with it. Sam has, on more than one occasion. Finally, he has come to terms on what the rest of his life will be like. All the torturous nights, or the painful mornings that follow, he's aware of it all. He will never get away from his parents. Even if he did, they would look for him, find him. Because, as long as they're still alive, he will never be safe. They will always be the constant in his life, the people he will always expect to be with him every day until they, or he, croak.

Dean turned his head to the side, locking onto Sam. He manuevered around the randomly-placed furniture in the living room as he made his way over to Sam; he looked slightly reluctant, Sam noted, but it was overcome by the powerful urge to actually _help_.

Sam watched as Dean stopped at the entrance to the bathroom, a small, extremely depressed smile on his face. Whether Dean was possibly trying to solace Sam or himself, he wasn't sure. If he was, though, it sure as hell didn't work, but Sam went along, offering a small, more believable smile than the older man's. Dean's widened a fraction of an inch, probably a little relieved to see Sam actually responding.

Dean walked over to Sam, keeping each step controlled and balanced. Mold seemed to be gathering on the far left corner of the room, so Dean strayed to the right side of Sam, plopped himself onto the hard surface beside Sam.

Sam could almost sense what Dean seemed to be doing, subconsciously or other. Everything he did or said seemed to be emphasized, as if making sure the reason for every movement was made known in Sam's eyes, every idea accented with an exclamation mark. Sam was beginning to believe Dean not only knew his parents were no good, but also that he knew what they did to him.

In all truth, Sam didn't know how to take that. Did he want Dean to know everything yet? Was his idea to tell Dean everything still a reasonable decision? Even now, after everything that's happened? Sam liked to think so. If he managed to rid himself of his parents, Dean and John were the only people he would go to. Only people he _could _go to They would have to realize the kind of person they would find underneath his persona and incognito identity. They would find him disgusting, no doubt, but he knew he had to tell them. Sam needed them to know what they were getting themselves into to be around him.

"You okay, little guy?"

Dean's voice was soft, nearly inaudible for Sam to hear. His voice was laced with worry, coated with utter concern, something Sam has only experienced an iota amount of times in his lifetime; especially directed at _him. _

"I'm fine." Sam's voice cracked, much to his dismay. In Sam's eyes, it proved just how weak he really was. Why was he like this? Was he born weak, or made weak? Whatever the correct answer was, it didn't matter now. It was his burden to deal with, now and forever.

"You wanna talk about it?"

It seemed like such a simple question, with an answer just as simple. Just one word, and a new topic would arise. But they both knew it wouldn't be anything like it, not really. With lack of a better word, it would be hell. Hell for Sam to explain, and nearly as hellish, or _as_ hellish, for Dean to listen.

It soothed Sam to know it would be painful for Dean, too. Not that he wanted to hurt him, never. Not physically, mentally, spiritually, or emotionally. He would never _want _such a thing. But the fact that Dean was pained because of Sam's pain was nonetheless comforting. To know he wasn't going through it alone, to know someone was right there by him. The whole fucking time.

"Yes, please" Sam croaked out.

The words sunk in, and Dean turned all his attention on Sam, not that it wasn't already there. He stiffened some, but otherwise kept up all his composure, all his defenses stayed tall. Sam took a deep breath.

"When you found me on the side of the road, it hadn't been because I'd escaped from some kidnapper. I had run away from home, from my parents. I hadn't known what else to do, where else to go. So I just ran." Sam had to stop to keep up his defenses. He had to do this, there were no other options. "It all started when I was about 10, the verbal abuse. They would always yell at me. I didn't know why, hell, I never knew why. I had to have done something,though, right? Why else would they do that?

"Then, one night, they told me to go to their room, that they would meet me there in a few minutes. That they had to get 'ready'. I was eleven or twelve and I didn't know what the hell to do. I had never been allowed in their room and I didn't know why it had changed all of a sudden."

Sam paused to take another deep breath. He felt vulnerable, weak. It felt as though he were made of plastic, the smallest hit could send him tumbling downward. This was harder than he thought, which was saying a lot because he knew it would be hell on fucking earth. He felt a salty tear run down his cheek as all the memories of his past assaulted him. He brought his hand up to his face to wipe it off hastily. He felt the reassuring presence Dean exuded and it appeased Sam slightly. Dean was no longer looking at him, he was just staring off into space, into some faraway land Sam couldn't get to. Sam liked the idea of how Dean acted as though he weren't completely engulfed by Sam's story, like it wasn't taking a huge toll on him. He was giving Sam the space he needed to finish the story on his own, but yet was always there whenever Sam needed a shoulder.

"I went into their room and sat on the bed. What else was I supposed to do? They came in a few minutes later. My mom was holding a piece of rope and my dad had the tape. That was when I _knew _something was seriously wrong. I jumped off the bed. My parents blocked the door, so I went for the window. I ran as fast as I could remember. But it wasn't fast enough. Not fucking fast enough. They snatched me by the waist and threw me onto the bed."

Several more tears streamed down his face as he strained himself to finish. "They started kissing me. On my lips, my chest, everywhere. Family doesn't _do _stuff like that. By then, I was screaming loud as hell. I was fighting so fucking hard, but even I knew when I battle was lost. My mother grabbed my arms and threw them behind my back, then tied them together. After she tied up my legs, my father had thrown a piece of tape on my mouth."

Sam's waterfalls were becoming more frequent, at least one tear per cheek. How he was holding it together so well he didn't know, but he that, by the end, he would be dead as hell. He didn't look over to see Dean's reaction. He didn't want to, he didn't want to see that look of pure disgust all over his face.

"My mother grabbed a pair of scissors and ripped off my shirt. My dad went for my jeans, but I wouldn't let him, _couldn't _let him. He grabbed the scissor from my mother and threw them into my knee. He took it out, then put it in that same knee, _again._ He told me if I moved one more time he would do the other." Sam wiped a big, fat tear from his cheek. "I didn't move for the rest of the night."

Sam's bridge burst, all his life tumbling to an end. He cried. His heart hurt so fucking bad and, for once, it was his own fault. For some unbelievable reason, it was worth it. Dean's strong arms embraced Sam welcomingly, a protective coating around Sam's frail body. He had had _many _hugs in the past but never, _never, _had they felt like this. This one felt warm, passionate, not rough or possessive. It felt like home.

Sam placed his head in the crook of Dean's shoulder as he held him tightly against his chest, as if afraid to let him go. Sam felt something wet drip onto his shoulder. He looked up curiously at Dean, bewildered. Tears were falling down Dean's face freely, dripping down his chin and onto Sam's shirt. Sam's heart nearly burst with joy; even at a time such as this, when all the hate and rejection was turned toward him, he couldn't help but feel the comfort and utter happiness of the moment. Dean cared, and not for all the wrong reasons. He didn't want him as his own, to replace himself for his parents; no, he was treating him with the respect any human deserved. Though Sam didn't put himself in that category, he accepted it with pleasure. He threw his arms around Dean and hugged the shit out of him. Not because he had to. Not because it was expected of him.

Because he wanted to.

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You can't BEGIN to comprehend how sorry I am!!! It's been so &#!%$ long since I've updated and I'm terribly sorry!! I hope this chapter was better than the last because, unfortunately, it seems the previous chapter wasn't loved by everyone. I appreciate all the constructive critiscm and/or praise from any readers! Thanks for all the insight I got for Chapter 9 and I hope I get lots of positive ones for this one!!!

And no I'm not done with this story. I've got a good bit to go and am enjoying it all!! My one question is if there should actually _be _a sequel for "Kill For You". I've been trying to decide and have no idea what to do. In other words....HELP ME OUT!! AHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**ALL CRITISCM, PRAISE, QUESTIONS, DOUBTS, ETC. ARE ACCEPTED!! I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW WHERE YOU STAND =)**

_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!! _


	11. Chapter 11

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

not only do i have no beta but i also never double checked it because i was in a bit of a hurry! Sorry for the inconvenience! hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**_____________________________**

Sam slowly edged into consciousness. Even with eyes shut, he could tell through his eyelids that it was bright outside. It burned through his skull, as if he were being singed, putting his entire body on fire. He had a colossal headache, and an attempt to shake it away, well, he couldn't begin to comprehend how that would feel. He rolled over at snail pace, cautiously scooting away from the sun's bright gaze. He was no longer located on the bathroom floor, as he had been previously; he was now occupying a cozy bed, with off-white sheets and a light beige covers. He had slept on it once before, the day after the Winchesters found him.

He emerged from under the covers to find Dean across from the bed, sitting in his chair next to a small table. The front legs of the chair were up off the ground, leaving his legs suspended as he hummed softly.

He seemed to be watching him, but Sam couldn't tell for sure. It was definitely a possibility that he was just seeing _through _him. Nonetheless, Sam heated up from such close scrutiny. He reluctantly pulled the covers off his body and edged toward the side of the bed. He no longer felt the warmth of unconsciousness, but he could deal with it. He had to. Besides, he had told Dean everything, and, after everything, he still didn't hate him.

Sam pushed off the bed, for some reason unbelievably sore, and gingerly walked over to Dean, taking a seat next to him at the table. All the while, he was still looking at the area of the bed Sam was a previous inhabitant of. Now he turned to Sam, watching him with kind eyes and an unbearably patient gaze.

"How you feeling, little guy?"

Sam still felt that tinge of joy soar through him when Dean, or anyone else for that matter, asked of his well-being. The occurrence in and of itself was nearly nonexistent. So few people cared for him anymore. The slightest idea that his pain was causing _someone else _pain, though it hurt the latter, made him feel human again; like there was nothing wrong with him.

"I've been better."

Dean nodded, as if in understanding of everything Sam was going through, he sympathized. He seemed in a blissful state, as if unaware of the mass chaos going through his own head. Yet, at the same time, he was undeniably burdened, a mass weight on is shoulders. Sam knew, the taut expression that would cross Dean's face on several occasions, the mildly hidden depression sinking further inside, the inner turmoil going through his mind every time he opens his eyes. All of these things, Sam couldn't explain. The way Dean truly _suffered _was something Sam couldn't begin to comprehend. He never knew him until maybe a week ago, no more than two. What is it about? Did Sam remind Dean of someone he had once held dear to his heart, or had just been Sam's sob story that effected him, not Sam himself. Whether it be the former or the latter, it didn't matter; Dean cared for him in a way only one other person had ever done, and that struck a cord in Sam.

What would Dean consider him to be? An asset that needed to be saved? A friend that needs help? Sam looked over at Dean again and saw Dean watching him again. Sam lifted an eyebrow in return, and Dean just smiled. It wasn't some halfass smile to get someoneoff your back, to be left alone. It was a genuine smile. Sam returned it with a smile of his own, not quite as big as Dean's but it was enough. Dean nudged him lightly in the arm, words continuing to go unspoken, and dragged Sam into the kitchen.

Sam, though he was considering it for some time, decided against fighting back; he trusted Dean, and Dean hopefully trusted him. He allowed himself to be pulled lightly into the kitchen, and be sat down on a stool. Sam pondered. What the hell were they doing in the kitchen? He looked around the kitchen. It was just your average, everyday kitchen. Yeah, there was rust at every corner and lots of unidentifiable objects about, but, all-in-all, there wasn't anything special about it.

He looked over to see Dean getting out a pan and setting it on the stove. Dean walked over to a miniature regrigerator located in the corner of the kitchen, cracked it open, and took out four white, gleaming eggs. He shot a glance to Sam, his smile widening at Sam's befuddlement. He cracked them open over a small bowl, tossing the egg shells while keeping the insides inside the bowl.

"Have you ever had scrambled eggs before, little guy?" Dean threw another glance at Sam. The look answered more than enough, but he waited for the response nonetheless.

"No."

Sam watched as Dean did a _tsk tsk tsk, _then beganshaking his pointer finger at him rapidly.

"Don't worry. We'll change that soon enough."

He motioned Sam over with the toss of his head, eager to get started. Hesitantly, and not nearly as ambiguous as Dean, walked over to stand beside him. Dean yanked open a cabinet, took some sort of white cloth out of it, and handed the contents to Sam.

"What-What is this?" Sam looked up at Dean, then back at the white glob in his hand. It was made from thin material, what it was precisely he wasn't sure.

Dean seemed as if he were mentally beating himself, for what Sam hadn't a clue. Dean took it back, slowly taking it out of his hands, and unfolded it.

"It's an apron."

Sam raised an eyebrow. Dean continued.

"You know, the thing you wear when you cook. Here I'll put it on." He stepped behind Sam, wrapped part of the "apron" over Sam's neck and the rest engulfing his torso and thighs. He felt Dean tie something behind his back. Sam didn't feel threatened by any means, but it wasn't exactly a comfortable position for him.

Finished, Dean turned Sam around and inspected him. Satisfied, he brought him over to the counter, which contained the egg yolk.

"Are you ready?"

Sam looked up hesitantly.

"Ummm....I don't know what we're doing yet."

Dean gave him the sweetest smile; then, in an instant, it went sour. Suddenly, he was giving some sort of mockery of a malicious smile.

"I know."

-_-_-_-_-_-_

For the next hour, they continued making scrambled eggs. Why scrambled eggs, neither of them knew, Sam less so. It was an enjoyable day so far; with John gone off on a hunt for the day, they were left the whole apartment room. Mind you, the room wasn't exactly big, but it was more than enough to satisfy their needs. After the culinary festivities they moved on to the next thing. They watched TV most of the time, they even wrestled. Though, that didn't last long. Sam's insecurities were getting the better of him. The feeling of being touched, the feeling of callouse hands, he just couldn't take it much more. The day hadn't been ruined however. Dean instanly offered up a game of Connect Four, and Sam accepted the challenge.

Nearly three hours later, they sunk down in the couch in front of the TV. Exhausted couldn't begin to explain how the two felt at this point.

Sam had had the time of his life. For him, _happiness _couldn't begin to describe how he felt. His heart sweltered with joy. Never had he felt so safe, so secure. Like he wasn't alone, and never was. He wanted to live in that moment forever; stray on the depths of consciousness the rest of his life, just living the life Dean had introduced to him in his dreams.

Or was it his dreams? They felt like dreams; in no way coud Sam have had so much luck. It wasn't fucking possible. As hs parents told him many times in the past, every _single _thing good that happened to him, he didn't deserve. And, if he didn't deserve it, why would it fall upon his lap, without so much as a prayer. No, this couldn't be real. There had to be something that could explain all of this, clear his mind.

He looked over to Dean. He was breathing hard, a smile on his face; once again, he seemed blissful. Sam smiled, too. The smile fell insantly. Nne of this is real, it's a hoax. He inched his hand onto his arm and pinched it. Hard.

He let out a squeak, so low not even Dean's ears heard it. Luckily. He sighed in relief.

All of this. It's all real. Everything that happens is reality; not some damn joke.

Doesn't that suck?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

John burst through the door, beads of sweat running down his face and onto his torn shirt. Dean jumped off the couch to face his dad. Sam watched intently as he caught John right before making a dent in the floor. Dean slowly urged him onto the floor, softening the landing considerably.

"Dad? What the hell happened?" He nearly screamed it, but it felt like Sam couldn't hear. Not a damn word. His gaze focused on John; the way his chest moved up and down rapidly, due to lack of oxygen. The way he gripped the front of Dean's shirt tightly, as if throwing a sign in his face, trying to tell him something his mouth could not. The way the life in his eyes flickered, then came back in a flash.

All of these things, Sam noticed within seconds. What he hadn't noticed, however, had been more important. So much more fucking important.

His parents, as if on cue, burst through the door to the apartment, guns in hand and knives in pockets. Dean looked behind him rapidly to see a gun shoved in his face. It was Sam's mom. John had passed out in Dean's lap, and Sam's father threw him on the floor. He looked up to see Sam, a sudden hunger lurking in his demeanor.

With John down for the count, and a gun to Dean's head, Sam was in a lose-lose situation. If he gave himself up, then they could easily kill Dean. Actually, it would be smarter for them to kill both Dean and John. They were the only people Sam considered friends, and they were the only people Sam could run off to. Without them, he had no where to go.

However, if he stoood his ground, then Mother would instantly kill Dean, leaving Sam vulnerable yet again. The only difference this time is that they have a _chance _to live. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

Sam sighed heavily.

Shit.

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Once again, sorry for the inconvenience of updating so late. I realize I've said that a lot lately, and I promise I AM trying. Le me sort everything out going on, and I will be back to updating as a full-time jobin no time. My life, with lack of a better word, sucks. I'm currently working everything out, plz be patient. I'm trying

Also, as i said at the beginning of the chapter, I have no beta and I never double-checked this chapter. I was in a hurry to get it updated and didn't want to take any longer in getting it up.

_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

not only do i have no beta but i also never double checked it because i was in a bit of a hurry! Sorry for the inconvenience! hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**_________________________**

Sam stared his mother down for all it was worth; he knew the decision he would have to make, sooner rather than later, but that didn't mean he couldn't display his absolute hatred to the idea. Why would anyone be willing give up their own freedom? To save someone they barely knew, no doubt. Not only that, Sam's life would most definitely be on the line for the stunt he pulled several days ago for his escape. Hitting his father in the head with a crowbar and his mother with a frying pan was looking like a less and less bright idea by the second. Maybe if had chosen less painful ways to take them out, his future punishment wouldn't be so condemning.

Not that it wasn't already.

Yet, there he stood, staring down not only his parents, but death itself. It was as if Satan- black wings, horns, and all- was standing behind the couple he called his family. _Waiting. _He knew that someday, somehow, whenever "God" chose to end his miserable life, it would be due to his beloved parents. Presumably in a painful and backbreaking way.

Despite all this, Sam would not allow any harm to be done to the Winchesters, particularly Dean. They took care of him, when they had no reason to. They even went so far as to _attempt_ to keep him and his parents as distanced as possible. It didn't work out that way but, hell, when did it ever? They were his friends, or, at least, he liked to think they were. Hell, even if they weren't, they were the closest anyone ever got.

Sam held up his hands defensively, palms facing both his parents as they stood over the Winchesters. Dean was currently preoccupied with the gun in his face but it seemed as though there was something else on his mind also. Like the here-and-now wasn't as important as something else, that something else being more far off and certainly harder to grasp. The future.

Sam's future.

He watched as Dean shut his eyes tightly, as if willing Sam's parents to just walk away, as if trying to restart the day, to pack up and leave this hellhole before the reappearance of his parents even took place. Sam could empathize; he felt the same damn way.

"I would suggest you come with us, you fucking whore." Sam's mother kept the gun firmly planted on Dean's head, probably to the point where it would leave a slight indention. If it was hurting Dean, he didn't show it. "Or we'll hurt your little friend." For emphasis, she pressed the gun deeper into Dean's skull, eliciting an almost inaudible hiss from Dean. Sam noticeably flinched.

Sam nodded knowingly, his palms raised in the same feeble manner as before. He couldn't think of anything else to do, to say. He didn't want to go back to his parents, he'd rather die, but allowing Dean to die was never an option to begin with. If either of them deserved to live, it was Dean, hands down.

If he was going to get out of this shithole, he had to think of something. Fast.

Sam took slow, precise steps in their direction. He kept his eyes strained on his parents, from one to the other, but he could feel Dean's eyes burning into him. It was a blistering sensation, Dean's gaze, making him feel the urge to throw a pitcher of ice water down his back, just to get rid of Dean's trained eye.

Sam refrained from any remaining stupidity, though. He couldn't risk anyone's life except his own. He had to play his part faultlessly; without flaw, without error. Perfect.

He observed as his father's patience was growing devastatingly thin. He clenched his fists together, then unclenched, only to clench them again. This went for several seconds, until he couldn't take it anymore.

Mr. Lautner walked briskly in front of Sam. He grabbed hold of his wrist, keeping it in an agonizing vice-like grip. He bent down, leveling himself with Sam, until their faces were only inches apart.

At this point Sam didn't dare breathe. He stood stock-still as his father looked him over, gazing over every square-inch of Sam's face. The lust in his father's eyes was undeniable, the smile playing on his face only the beginning of something even more unbearable.

After maybe a minute of the stare down, Sam's breathing was becoming short and quick. With each inhale, he could smell the expensive beer on his father's breath. With each exhale, he was preparing himself for that deadly inhale. All the same, he wanted to vomit. Better yet, he wanted to die. The burden of this world, even Sam had to admit, was just too damn much.

"It's been a long time, Sammy-boy" His father whispered in a tone Sam had grown familiar to ever since he was a boy. It was unquestionably not a good sign.

His father slowly reached out to rest his hand on the nape of Sam's neck, caressing the soft, unblemished skin in a circular rhythm. At this point, Sam had somehow managed to rid himself of his father's essence enough to wonder what had happened to Dean. If he knew him as well as he thought, which he did, this was definitely something Dean would be against.

His father leaned down to brush his lips against Sam's neck. He gave light kisses against the soft skin, even letting out a moan on occasion.

The hairs on the back of Sam's neck stood up, shivers running down his back continuously; after years of the same treatment, his body would _never _allow him to get used to it.

Sam attempted straining his head to the side without being too apparent. If he remembered correctly, which it's hard to do when your father's trying to have a make-out session with you, Dean was still at pinpoint, his mother probably keeping the gun fixed on Dean's skull.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. He'd been so focused on his father he hadn't heard his mother at all. She was currently roughing up Dean considerably, punching and kicking him. Dean was on his knees, with his palms laid out on the floor for extra support. Sam watched as his mom veered a kick into Dean's gut. He grunted, lost his balance, and fell to the floor with a loud thud. What hurt Sam most was that, he wasn't fighting back.

His father was still at work with Sam's throat when Sam pucked up any courage, though only a small iota. He had to get his parents away from Dean, no matter the cost. Dean was being used a personal punching bag, andd no way in hell would Sam allow it to continue.

Then, it felt like Sam was plunged into a dark hole, darker than hell and, worse, darker than his parent's bedroom. Sam nearly gasped aloud at the revelation. It occured to Sam that maybe Dean didn't _want _to fight back. That, maybe, if Sam had to suffer, then so did he. That Dean felt it would only be fair, just to even the score.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. Sam was giving up _his own _free will to save the Winchesters and Dean was throwing away his and, possibly, his father's. Knowing his mother, she was going to beat Dean senseless; was he was unconscious, he might just move on to John. Hell, why not? Did Dean not give a damn? What was this?

"I'll do whatever you want. Just let Dean go."

His mother stopping the senseless abuse of Dean's face and his father stopped the movement of his lips and tongue. Sam felt the urge to crawl into a hole and die, but he had to stay strong. Not only for his own sake, but Dean's, too. If he wouldn't save himself, then Sam would have to do it for him.

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hope u enjoyed this chapter!!! don't know if i'd consider it a cliffy, but i think it could be. Would love to know what u think. It seems that I haven't gotten as many reviews as I used to and, to tell u the truth, its quite sad. I guess it's because nobody expects me to update anymore, or that the storyline's just all wrong...i don't know.

thanks for all the people that DO review though!! I really appreciate it. I think that, without reviews, I wouldn't be able to keep writing so, again, thanks

It took me a while to write this one but i enjoyed making it. Once again, it took me a while to update, but i hope i'm getting better. Little by little, I hope to start updating every other day. If only I had my own computer.....

**REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS A PLEASURE TO READ!!!!!! and, if u wanted to know, i believe reviews also help me update sooner---Just an observation =)**

until next time....


	13. Chapter 13

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

**REMEMBER TO CHECK OUT MY NEW FANFIC: "Left to Die"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

I have NO beta!! Sorry for the inconvenience! hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**____________________**

Sam stiffened as he saw his mother turn her head in his direction, then began inching closer to him with small, measured steps. She all but forgot about Dean, leaving him semiconscious on the blood-stained carpet. Sam tensed at seeing, not his own blood, but Dean's. It felt like he was ridden of what was left of his heart and was thrown to the dogs, then recycled for canned goods usage. It was bad. No- fucking _terrible. _It trailed off Dean's face, soaked through his clothes, and onto the carpet, seeping through the material with abundance. It was enticing to look at, in a bad sort of way, his eyes transfixed on the pool of red under and around Dean. He seemed aware, despite his condition- maybe _too _aware.

Sam turned back to face his parents. They now stood directly in front of him and were a mite less enthused than previously. Their eyes conveyed something he had seen frequently as a child-anger. Bloodcurdling, unadulterated fury. It wasn't often they gave a real, genuine smile. Unless, of course, they were going down on him, which was when the real, malicious grins broke out. He cringed. This was it, if he couldn't think of something fast there was no way he could escape this.

That's when he saw it. It was barely obvious to the human eye, but he caught it. It was Dean. He was inching over to the edge of the table, which displayed a small pocketknife with a nice, smooth handle with label of "JW" in gold lettering. John Winchester. Even if his parents looked back at him, it wouldn't be noticeable at all. And they did-they would look back to check on Dean every fifteen seconds or so and didn't even realize he had moved nearly two feet. Sam kept a straight face all the while. As he said before, if he expected to survive he had to play his part perfectly. And he could do just that.

He continued to look both his parents in the eyes, making sure to keep all eye contact _off _Dean and _on _him. It wasn't that hard, of course, seeing how his parents' obsession with him was becoming drastically obvious by the second. If he ever looked that way, however, it could end with his parents becoming increasingly suspicious, and he could live without. His parents had known him to be the kid with a mission, bold and determined. He may not be as strong as his parents, combined, at least, but he could stare anyone down effectively, with the right incentive. And his parents were more than aware of that fact. If he kept looking off to the side and trying to mentally rid himself of his parents, they would know. He'd be caught in an instant.

What they didn't know, however, was that he could lie to their faces and not get caught at all.

He kept his composure calm and chilled as he watched Dean slowly ease off the floor, using only his peripheral vision; his eyes never once strayed off his mother's, then his father's. Their faces were now inches from his, their eyes gleaming with a malice he was truly getting tired of. Ignoring it, he discreetly checked their weaponry. His mother still held a knife in her palm, her hand twitching to use it every so often, but his father stood confidently bare-handed. He was assured of the fact that he could knock his son out in a second's notice if he misbehaved.

By now, Dean had the knife and was walking back to the couple with slow, steady, and calculated steps. Everything had to be perfect. Sam watched from his side vision as he dodged some parts of the floor, as if he knew they would squeak from the weight. Dean, only inches from the Lautners, tightened the grip on his knife and thrust it at Sam's mother's head.

She ducked right before the knife connected with her skull, and twisted her arm around, connecting with Dean's left knee. He hissed in pain, falling to the ground with a thud. Sam attempted a kick to his mother, whom was right at his feet, but was quickly stopped by his father, who all but lifted him off the ground and flung him against the wall.

His head connected with the wall and he felt his vision begin to blur. He was almost expecting to see little birds floating around his head, chirping softly in his ear. There were no stupid birds, but they sure got a run for its money. A large, muscular, and exceptionally hazy figure walked over to him. Bending down to eye level, the person swept his bangs out of his eyes. Sam visibly cringed- it was no doubt is father. He could pick out those callouse, rough, and bloodwrenching hands in a heartbeat. Those same hands began to slowly caress his cheek, soothing the soft skin. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Where was Dean? The last thing he remembered was his ass getting whupped by Mom. He was on the ground, but was he down for the count? No, he couldn't be, he had to be fighting his mother right now.

In the distance, he heard the shattering of a vase, and the breaking of something hard, sturdy- maybe be a table, or a chair. Or someone's skull.

Sam tried hard to keep his father's prying hands off-so fucking hard. It was no use, though. His body wasn't cooperating with the demands his brain was blaring out. He wanted all feelings, all emotions, gone. He couldn't handle this, not again. He tensed as the hands slowly went from his face and trailed slowly, mockingly, down his body. They stopped at the waistband of Sam's jeans, then crawled up his shirt. The hands were memorizing every square-inch of Sam, feeling every muscle, every scratch. He was disgusted as the hands teased him, demanded a response from him. He did nothing, however. He would not let this man win, he couldn't.

The hands grew more rapid as they crawled to the top of his shirt, and grabbed ahold of his chin. A strong pair of lips crushed his own, making his gag almost instantaneously. Sam, teary-eyed, was forced to breathe through his nose as his father defiled him further. He dropped the hand from his chin, and slowly moved it back down the shirt. Once again, they settled on the waistband of his jeans.

Suddenly, he heard something else fall, but it wasn't the sound of breaking glass, nor was it the spund of tearing cloth. A body. A body had fallen with a loud thud. There was one of two choices. One, it was his mother. Two, Dean had lost and now lay unconscious on the floor. Sam, disbelieving in God, prayed his fucking heart out it'd be the latter.

The hands on his chest were jerked away almost so instantaneously Sam wondered if they were there to begin with. He opened his eyes, and saw three figures and one off to the side, John, each having their fair share of blurriness. One lay on the ground, a woman...So his mother had lost.

That meant Dean won.

The other two figures were in a fighting stance, one in much worse shape than the other. Appearances are not what they seem, however, as the pominently more beat up figure could hold his own just fine. He could almost _feel _the rage radiating from him as he kicked the man's, his father's, gut. He did not tarry nor did he wait for him to fall. Instead, he held him up, then threw nearly a million punches a minute to the bigger, more muscular figure. It was a losing battle for the man. He lay crumpled on the floor, slowly easing into unconscousness. It was a short fight, but not nearly short enough. For Dean, at least. He was sure that Dean had won, but why was he still beating on the man, his father? He was already unconscious, maybe even dead. He didn't have to keep going.

But maybe he had to. In order to let out all his anger, all his fury, on someone other than Sam, he had to do this.

Sam watched as the violent fury turned into useless hostility. He was beyond drained, he had to be. The dark bruises all over Dean's body told a lot, but the _real _damage was all mental. He had witnessed Sam when he was most vulnerable, and that was something his mind couldn't lighten or rid himself the burden of.

Sam's vision had increased drastically since his father had thrown him into the wall. Not only could he see the contour's of Dean's body, but he could also see the lines of distress in his face, the small details an average person could never think to find. The eyebrows were furrowed in a hostile, malevolent position, but Sam thought nothing of it. He wasn't planning to do anything else to the man, nor the woman. He was all out. Everything he had had been drained from his body, there was no energy to keep him going.

In other words, he collapsed.

__________________________________

Insight would definitely help; I would LOVE to know for future reference!!! Sorry it's so short, I just wanted to get something up so nobody'd hate me =)

Also, as i said at the beginning of the chapter, I have no beta and, once again, never double-checked this chapter so all grammatical, punctual, spelling, etc. errors are mine for the taking. I was in a bit of a rush to get this fanfic updated...

**Remember to check out my new fanfic, "Left to Die"!!!**

_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!_

_**CHECK OUT MY POLL FOR THE "KILL FOR YOU" SEQUEL!**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!! **_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

I have NO beta!! Sorry for the inconvenience! hope u like it!!!!!

As I said at the beginning of the chapter, I have no beta

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

_____________________________

Sam had gotten to his feet and burst in Dean's direction by the time he had hit the floor. He ran to him, breathing heavily, and checked him over for the more prominent wounds. His lip was busted pretty bad, but far from fatal and he had various bruises colored all over his face. Sam began the process of checking for damaged ribs. After the thorough, and hardly lengthy, analysis he sighed with relief as he concluded Dean only had few bruised ribs, but none were broken.

He couldn't say the same for his hand, however, which was bent in an extremely awkward, and rather sickeningly, way, where his fingertips grazed the top of his wrist. Sam's stomach rolled in revulsion but continued the inspection flawlessly. Carefully, he slowly eased up Dean's shirt until it reached up to his chest to see the accumulated bruises all over his stomach. Some purple, some yellowish-brown, while the majority were a mixture of blue, purple, and maroon.

He felt a hand rest slowly, almost hesitantly, on his shoulder. He squealed and twisted around in an instant to see John standing beside him. Sam's gut nearly wrenched with relief, his heart luckily still intact. John would make this all better, he could help Dean. Save him.

John took a seat next to Sam and repeated the process of looking Dean over. He seemed to get the same conclusion with Dean's ribs, just bruised, and no further injuries were really life-threatening. It'd hurt like a bitch, but John was fully aware that they had all had worse.

Sam most of all.

-------  
---------

When Dean came to, he was on a mattress, hard as a rock, just like he was used to. He didn't have the strength to open his eyes, not yet. He just relied on his other senses to predict where he was, but he had to admit, at this point, he didn't care _that _much. He was on a bed, that much he knew. There was a bright light shining on his face and right arm and leg, the heat radiating off his skin. The sun was the suspect, no doubt. He came to the decision that he was in the motel room on the bed closest to the window, which meant he had to be closest to the door. John's bed.

A hand was placed lightly over his own, the thumb rubbing smooth circles on the surface of his skin. The hands were coarse, almost rough, yet the gesture was soothing, relieving him slightly of the killer headache he had which was currently killing brain cells he couldn't afford to lose. He once again considered opening his eyes, but the sun on his face was too bright, and the sightless feeling he had was too comforting right now. Even if he _wanted _to see the ugly place he called Earth, the sun had other ideas, blazing into him like a thousand needles.

"Dean? Son, wake up? We need you to wake up."

We? Dean said nothing as he noted John's incorrectly used pronoun. There was just John and Dean, two lonely Winchesters, there was no one else.

The voice had been hoarse, possibly because of lack of speech. Who knows? Yet...that had to be it, that was the only possibility. Besides, who else was there to talk to? Dean was out for the count and Mom was dead, has been for years and nothing was going to change about that now. There was no one else John could talk to so obviously his voice would be hoarse. Unless he talked to himself when he felt especially lonely, like now. Wait...Sam.

The recent events flooded through Dean like a million bees fighting for the honey that was somehow conveniently placed in his body. He squirmed and threw his eyes open, completely oblivious to the sun's gaze. He met his father's eyes first. They were one of distress, concern, and slight confusion. He turned his head to the foot of the bed to see Sam, blatantly concerned of his well-being. He had a sight smile gracing his features as he walked to Dean's other side. Dean examined Sam critically for any injuries he may have sufficed, but it seemed the only thing he had lost was dignity. He wanted to cry for what his parent's, his _father, _had done. He had made a promise to Sam, that he wouldn't _ever _let them touch him. He broke that promise, severed it completely, last night. Or was it last night? Two nights ago? A fucking _year_?

The headache was making itself known tenfold. He rubbed his head irritably, then scrubbed his hand over his face. It was all his fault. Sam had yet again been hurt and it was all his fucking fault. Dean's blank expression became one of anger. Took another look at Sam and it went from anger to sadness in an instant. A small tear was rolling down Sam's unblemished cheek, a small smile creeping up. Why was he smiling? There was _nothing _funny but, yet, despite it all, Dean could feel himself start to smile, too. Why? He'd never know. Sam had been violated, despite _everything _Dean had said _wouldn't_ happen, and there they were smiling. His heart hurt, more than he could ever have no to be possible. But, what surprised him the most was, not only was he smiling, but he actually felt _happy. _For once in his life, he knew everything would be okay. Sam's parents were dead, due to yours truly, and there was nothing left for Sam to be afraid of. He could live with them and live happily ever after.

Of course, that's never what _really _happens, is it?

It was a good thought while it lasted. Nobody lives happily ever after in the real world, only in fairy tales was that possible. Either way, he'd sure as hell get as close as he could.

"You feeling better?" John asked, moving his hand from Dean's and placing it on his shoulder. He gave it a good hard squeeze. Dean nodded, turning his head from Sam's to John's.

"Yeah, I'm doing better" Dean said, still smiling. Sam stepped closer still, now right next to Dean on the side of the bed, while John occupied the other side.

Dean looked back over to Sam, watching the one tear on his cheek be joined with another, then another. Sam's smile grew brighter, as did Dean's. Sam bright eyes reflected warmth and utter joy. If you looked _really _deep you could see a bloodcurdling, unbearable sadness lurking in his eyes, but Dean couldn't pay attention that now. He wouldn't let himself. He deserved to be happy, now more than ever.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he held his arms out. If that wasn't invitation enough, he didn't know what was. Sam accepted nonetheless, nearly jumping into waiting arms and, though Dean's injuries were slightly jostled, it was so fucking worth it. The warmth from Sam seemed to flow into Dean, giving him an unconquerable strength he hadn't known existed. Tears streaked his own face as Dean squished Sam's body into his own, taking in the sheer, unadulterated radiance that was Sam. It was so bright, so immaculate, it could blind any man, woman, or child in the blink of an eye.

He wouldn't give it up for the world.

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HOPE U LIKED IT!!!!!!!!!!

sorry it took so long to update. i've put so much time into "Left to Die" and got caught up in that story. Let me know what u think about this one!

yep, i know, super short. Sorry about that, but i thought it was a good stopping point.

-do u think i should continue "Won't Back Down" or Waiting Hastily"? I'm having mixed thoughts about it and was wondering if you guys could put some input on the situation. You see, the two arent super popular but some people seemed to like them, so...i don't know. Whatever y'all think.  
-If u have any questions, comments, or profound statements you feel must be known let me know via email, PM, or review. I'm curious what u guys think about this chapter

_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!_

_**oh and if u were wondering, the story is not quite over, even if it seems like it would be a good ending. Now it will deal with Sam's recuperation and trust in other people. =)**_

POLL: WHICH STORY IS YOUR FAVORITE?? --LOCATED ON MY PROFILE PAGE


	15. Chapter 15

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

I have NO beta!! Sorry for the inconvenience! hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

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"You ready to go, Sam? I'm starving."

Sam looked over at the twin beds and snatched up his jacket off the nearest one. Efficiently, he shrugged it on, throwing Dean a quick glance. "I'm working on it." After making a pointed stab at his phone and stuffing it in his pocket, he hurried over to the front door. Dean stood at the entrance of their new apartment room, rushing Sam along with his hands flailing out the door, a big grin on his face. Sam returned one of his own as he walked over to the Impala as Dean locked up. After securing the room, he scuffled over to his baby and plopped onto the driver's seat. A flash of regret surged through Dean.

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby," he said, stroking the wheel of the Impala soothingly. Sam just watched, an eyebrow twitching radically as Dean whispered soothing words.

"I think it'll be all right for now, Dean. Just don't do it again, or it will _so _burn your ass down."

Dean turned his entire body to Sam, effectively giving him a glare. "Commentary is unnecessary. Thanks anyway."

Sam just smiled and turned his gaze toward the window as Dean slowly revved up the Impala, driving her out of the parking lot with the reverence a priest would use in church. He was an uncommon sort, Dean. He had this amazingly weird fetish with cars, particularly his '67 Chevy Impala. He never puts on the left sock before the right and is one of the most disorganized beings Sam has ever or will ever know. He always got the pasta in the shape of letters so he could spell out "Dean wuz here", before eradicating it completely as it went down his throat and into his digestive system. Sam didn't know what to make of him. He thought that ever sense he and his father had taken him in nearly a week ago, Dean just hadn't been used to the third wheel of the group and felt uncomfortable. It wasn't that at all, though, Dean was perfectly okay with Sam; in fact, he seemed overjoyed with him there, always keeping him in the loop with everything. What really wrote him off was when John gave Dean that look. That discrete yet noticeable look that told Sam everything he needed to know. Dean was _always _like that. He was always rambunctious, hyper. It was a wonder Dean hadn't died of a heart attack from overexertion.

Sam continued to look out the window on his side of the car, admiring all of nature's beauty. The maples were growing nicely, as were the asp trees, but what he really noticed were the willow trees. They hung with a sense of elegance he had never recognized before. Long ago, he had never liked willow trees because they seemed to have this aura of negativity about them, with them drooping all over the floor and what not. They reminded Sam of himself in a sense. Due to his childhood, he had never been a very self-confident person. But with good reason. His former parents always told him the truth, whether it hurt or not. And it did hurt. His heart ached every time one of them said "You're a goddamn bitch, you know that?" or "Just leave, I can't bear to look at you any longer". It hurt more than anything, but those words had meaning and, in a sense, they prepared him. It gave him a sense of what to expect outside his house, outside his inner shell. If his own flesh and blood didn't love him, why would anyone else?

"Is Burger King okay, Sammy?"

Sam flinched. For the past week, Dean had gotten into the habit of calling him "Sammy". As he probably always will no matter what, Sam looked at him as a brother. If he didn't, it would be denoting Dean on a lower level, and that he couldn't do. But "Sammy" was _not _a name he was particularly fond of. It wasn't because it sounded childish, who the hell cares? The words of his parents rang in his head, vibrating heavily against his skull. "Hey, Sammy, you remember what to do, right? Good boy", "That's right Sammy-boy, just like that." Sam's heart felt like it had been torn out of his chest, stomped on by a horde of rabid monkeys, and stuffed in a drawer for someone else's future use. What hurt the most, though, was that he knew he deserved it. Every single touch, every single curse, was merited because of his own faults, his own deeds. He had failed his parents, his _neighbors. _Goddamn, his neighbors. They didn't deserve death, he did, it was _his_ mistake. It didn't matter. He knew God wouldn't let him die. He killed off all the good people first.

But the worst part was, he was going to fail Dean, too.

A hand patted gently, _alluringly_, on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. This wasn't possible, his parents were dead, so what was this? A nightmare? Hesitantly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, he looked over his shoulder. His eyes connected with Dean's, their eyes locking in on one another's. He had a look of sadness about him, but Sam wasn't sure why. _Probably felt sorry for you because you got scared. Of him. _Sam sighed, the corner of his lips twinging up. It was anything but genuine, probably looking more like a grimace, but it was worth a shot.

"What's wrong, kid?" Dean had a questioning look about him and, deeper down, their was pure dolefulness. Why was he so damn sad? There was nothing to be sad about. What happened to the hyperactive guy with a water gun in oe hand and a real one in the other? It looked as if there was a battling warring inside of Dean. His face would be utter despondency, then his left nostril would tilt upward, making him look _slightly _like a pig.

"Nothing. Come on, I'm hungry." Sam jerked open the Impala door, then slammed it a bit harder than he had meant. If Dean weren't so out of it he probably would have said something, but all he did was trudge alongside Sam, his hands dug deep in his pockets, a blank expression on his face. Not only was he hyper, but to add to it this guy was damn confusing. Sometimes, he would be like an open book, cracks in the mask that depicted every detail. Then there would be times, like now, where you just didn't know what to do with yourself. There would be no cracks, just the perfect smooth surface of his mask acting as a buffer from inquisitive minds.

He sighed as they walked into Burger King, traipsing ahead of Dean, who was still in his trance. Good, it was nearly empty.

John wouldn't be with them for another month and when he was they'd move on to the next city, the next hunt. With Dean like this, it'd be awkward around him for quite a while. What had set him off?

They walked up to the cashier, Sam hesitantly wondering if he should order when, surprisingly, Dean had been conscious enough to order for the both of them. Every time they went to Burger King, which wasn't really that often, Sam always got the same thing. Funny how Dean seemed to notice.

They headed over to an empty table and sat across from each other, Sam keeping his gaze on the entrance, just in case someone decided to stop by. Subconsciously, he could feel the heated stare Dean was giving him. Sam squirmed under the scrutiny, but kept up a cool, untroubled look.

It felt like hours they had been sitting there and he couldn't take it anymore. Reluctantly, Sam turned to face Dean, looking him in the eyes, an eyebrow drawn upward. Dean kept the same intense look on his face.

"Sammy-" Sam flinched. Dean raised a perfectly curved eyebrow, then instantly furrowed his brows at a sharp angle. Just by the look on Dean's face, he knew Dean had seen it. The flinch. Curse him and his phobia for nicknames. His mind worked frantically for something to say, get on a light, easy topic. Weather?

Dean beat him to it. "Sam, tell me what's wrong." It was one of those voices Dean used when they were on a very serious subject. It was the projection in his voice that not-so-subtly added "or I'll beat you to a pulp". He wouldn't accept any argument or denial as a correct answer. Go figure.

"Dean, there's nothing wrong."

Dean was about to say something when the cashier called for them to pick up their order. He did something like a snort, then got up and headed for the cashier. "I'll be right back." When he was out of hearing distance, Sam sighed, using a string of expletives under his breath shortly after. Why was Dean so angry? Had Sam done something wrong, and Dean already knew about it? When Dean had asked what was wrong, had expected a confession of some sort, which Sam gave none of. He looked over to the entrance to see a middle-aged man slide in and give the room a once over. Sam watched him skeptically, his eyes little slits, noting every move the man made or was about to make. Noticing Sam's stare, the man glanced over at him. Sam ducked his head abruptly, allowing his brown locks to cover his face as he walked passed him to the cashier. Why was he so afraid of everyone? As if everyone was out to get him? That man could very well be completely innocent, and he was nearly condemning him to damnation because he was _intimidated. _Damn it.

He looked over his shoulder to see Dean walked back to their table, food in hand, his expression sour. If he didn't think of a good excuse for whatever the hell he needed one for, he was screwed. What if Dean decided to leave him, decided he wasn't good enough to be in his presence? If he lied and Dean knew it, he would throw him out for dishonesty. Conversely, if he told the truth, Dean may not like what he hears and drop him off at the nearest gas station.

Sweat trickled down Sam's face. His palms were perspiring. He wiped his hands on his pants profusely. Why he was so nervous, he didn't know. Surely he would know if he had done something wrong. He threw another glance over his shoulder to see Dean right behind him. He sat down across from Sam, handed him a bag of food, set his own down on the table, and stared at Sam expectantly.

Shit.

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hope you liked it!!!!! I realize not a whole lot happened in this chapter, but i assure you, it'll pick up!! Let me know what you think about it!  
I have to admit, I never double-checked this chapter, but I felt the urge to just put it up anyway. The next chapter will be longer and hopefully better written. My next update will be on "Left to Die" and once I get a little further into it I'd like to start another maybe a month or so. I dunno, probably less.

As I said at the beginning of the chapter, I have no beta

do u think i should continue "Won't Back Down" or Waiting Hastily"? I'm having mixed thoughts about it and was wondering if you guys could put some input on the situation. You see, the two aren't super popular but some people seemed to like them, so...i don't know. Whatever y'all think

_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!_

**I love reviews as much as or more than Winnie the Pooh loves honey. --And that's saying something.**

Poll: What is your favorite fanfic??? -located on my profile page, check it out!!


	16. Chapter 16

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O**

I have NO beta!! Sorry for the inconvenience! hope u like it!!!!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is a wonderfully written TV series by Eric Kripke and I don't own any of it. I just write the fanfics for them, and can only _hope _they become as popular as Supernatural, but we all know the truth of the matter, don't we? Unfortunately for me, I don't own Supernatural, Eric Kripke, or the Winchester boys, only my fanfics. Actually, I don't even known that, because the characters and ideas are based on Supernatural, too, so it's still kinda Kripke's work. And I don't even own my room because I write the fanfics _owned_ by Eric Kripke in there. Which means I own nothing _in _my room, including my computer, because the Supernatural series is indirectly related to that, too. And, on a broader scale, I don't own my house because I wrote my fanfics, owned by _Eric_, in that house. So I own nothing, not my house, my room, not my computer... I have nothing to live for. *sniff*  
-Dramatic, right?? Ha ha, hope you liked it =)**

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Sam looked away quickly, his head bowed so his hair moved over his face. What in the _hell? _Why was Dean acting so...angry? Sad? Scared? It was intimidating to see Dean like this, though he wouldn't admit it to a damn soul. He had seen Dean for who he was, jolly, happy, and drunk with humor. But, when he got like this, it scared the holy hell out of Sam. This was the anti-Dean, the opposite of himself, the darker side of the coin. When Dean was like this, what was he supposed to do? He braced himself.

_"Sam, _what's wrong?" Surprisingly, Dean's voice had been quiet, reassuring, as if he had noticed Sam's fright. _Of him. _Sam stole a glance his way hesitantly. He hadn't touched his food, the tray lying tidy and clean on the table, Dean's main goal focusing on Sam, looking, _searching,_ for any involuntarily shivers, twitches, expressions, etc. It was embarrassing to see himself being scrutinized so intently, as if he were a book to be read. He bowed his head further.

"Nothing's wrong, Dean."

From under his curtain of brown hair, he could sense Dean leaning closer to him, trying to get a peak of his face, a glimpse of his thoughts. Dean moved his hand up and softly swept Sam's hair out of his face. At that exact moment, Dean's fingers touching his hair, Sam had fought the overwhelmingly painful urge to just punch him in the face and make a run for it, not giving a damn on the scar it would no doubt leave. His parents used to play with his hair, all the fucking time, and now Dean was doing it. He decided against punching him in the face, this was _Dean, _but he did slap his hand effectively away from his hair. Dean, getting the picture relatively quick, leaned back in his chair, continuing to ignore his food, a look of deep concentration on his features. His features softened.

"Sam. Please." Dean's soft, almost pure voice had caught Sam off-guard entirely. He looked up into Dean's eyes, nearly getting lost in them. They were begging him for the truth, the complete honesty, something he couldn't give. Dean and his father had done so much for him, and here he was lying to the one person who actually _cared. _How could he be so cruel? When had he become the monster he was presently?

Slowly, Dean reached a hand out and set it on top of Sam's, his thumb rubbing against the smooth skin of Sam's hand. He looked into Sam's eyes, the probability of Dean seeing _everything _significantly higher than Sam would have liked_. _They had barely known each other, but yet, it seemed like Dean knew everything about him, about his past, present- hell, about his damn future. It was eerie on the best of days. And what made it worse was the fact that Sam could do the same thing to Dean.

"I-" Sam shut his eyes tight, letting the image of his parents hover in his mind freely. It was a sickening sight, but he didn't let it stray, not once. It was a painful task, but he let it happen. Because he deserved that pain, that torture, for all the pain he has been and will be causing Dean. If he hadn't deserved any of his childhood torture before, he sure as hell did now. "I, I haven't been completely honest with you."

At first, Sam had planned to tell Dean everything. _Everything. _It seemed like a good idea, honesty, like he'd finally stop living a lie, start recovering again. He'd finally stop wondering how Dean would feel about him when his mask came off, when all the dust settled. Because the dust _would _settle, it was inevitable, just thinking about it made Sam shiver. But, though he couldn't control _when _the dust would settle, he could decide _how._ By telling Dean, which Sam dubbed the "hard way", or by letting him find out himself. It was Sam's own choice, his own obstacle if you will, the good way or the bad, the easy or the hard, the painless or the painful. In truth, both decisions would be more than mildly painful, more like bloodcurdling, overwhelming agony. But that was irrelevant at this point in the game. Sam knew he had to tell Dean before he found out himself, or then there'd be hell to pay. If Dean found out before Sam got the truth out it'd ruin all the things they'd worked up to and all the things they had achieved would tumble down in a horrifically uncontrollable mess. And it'd be Sam's fault.

But he couldn't, not now. He'd tell Dean another time.

"I was wondering if you could stop calling me 'Sammy'." Sam said quietly, his head down. Dean was slightly stunned by the confession. He watched him sadly, his lips twitching with guilt and his eyes twinged with grief. Sam had expected it.

Dean allowed a sad smile to pass over his lips. The smile wasn't genuine, and it wasn't convincing, but Sam appreciated the effort anyway. "Of course, Sam."

Sam offered his thanks, nodding. He wasn't hungry and just looking at his burger made him feel a bit green, but this subject was becoming to much for him. He had to stop it before it went any further.

"All right, I'm starving. Let's eat." Without hesitation, he dug into his burger. Dean bit into his own less enthusiastically as he continued to watch Sam from the corner of his eye, his eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch.

Sam couldn't lie as well as he had remembered.

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Any information on Sam's childhood was never on Dean's priority list to hear about or listen to, unless it had something to do with an addition to his list of people he'd torture and slaughter, sooner rather than later. And, when he did listen to it, he felt like punching a baby_. _Yeah, that's right, a _baby_. He'd be willing to go on a baby killing homicide if that meant no more pain for Sam having to rehash unwanted memories. So when the time came for Sam to tell Dean not to call him Sammy at Burger King, he was so fucking happy there were no infants or toddlers in the vicinity. Unfortunately, there had been a wall that he could bang his head on, but, by a miracle of Someone, he managed to refrain until a later date.

Listening to Sam break was an agonizing thing on the best of days. It wasn't often, not like you'd expect from a physically, sexually, mentally, and psychologically abused kid, but it was often enough for Dean to have a constant eye on the kid. It hurt him knowing Sam hurt worse, but he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Pray? Dean scoffed at the thought, wondering how it had gotten there in the first place.

They were presently driving home from Burger King, Sam in the passenger seat looking out the window. He'd do that a lot, just look out the window and stare at the nature he was surrounded with, the nature he had been so ignorant of in the past. Dean didn't blame him, how often had the kid been let out outside when he was younger? Once? Twice? _Never? _Dean sighed heavily. Why did he burden himself with all these questions.

Obviously, he was about to burden himself even more. The sigh that had emitted from his mouth a mere second ago came out significantly louder than he had first thought. Sam involuntarily twitched, stealing a glance at Dean before cowering his eyes back to the window before Dean could meet his gaze. Dean almost sighed again, out of his own stupidity, which seemed to be increasing in size as the days went by, but he held off. What would Sam think if he sighed _again_?

Dean opened his mouth to apologize, but he stopped before he uttered the first syllable. What was he going to apologize for? For thinking defiling thoughts about Sam's past and that he promised he wouldn't do it again, that he just couldn't help himself but to think about all of Sam's childhood mishaps?

Dean kept his mouth clenched tight the rest of the drive home, almost _feeling _Sam's self-confidence plummeting. Had he just ruined everything they had worked so hard on, from a single sigh? What's worse, a sigh of disgust that Sam believed to be directed toward him. It made Dean squirm in his seat, but he didn't make it too obvious. It was more like a colossal twitch, his head and shoulders shuddering with regret. What was he supposed to do?

He parked the beloved Impala in front of their not-so-beloved motel room. The door was rusting over in layers, it's decaying hinges making it difficult to open the damn door. The grafitti surrounding their door and all the others in the motel reminded Dean faintly of Sam. The scrawlings on the wall were messy and unkempt, just as Sam's life had been not so long ago.

Sam reached for the handle on his car door, but Dean raised a hand. "Please. Just sit for a second." Sam stopped his hand midair, then rested it gently on his thigh. Sam stared ahead, looking over the graffiti as Dean had been doing moments ago. His upper lip turned upward a fraction, looking a bit like a snarl. Dean said nothing for a while, just sitting, inhaling Sam's scent and the innate essence about him.

After a few moments of silence, Sam looked over to Dean and looked him over. "Is something wrong?" He sounded like a little kid again. _He still _is _a kid, _Dean thought to himself. The innocent look on his face shone with scarcity, the feeble light a small beacon before being engulfed entirely by darkness, it was as if he was scared of Dean, of what he would do, and that he'd regret ever associating himself with him- staying with Dean, letting Dean help Sam with his parents, _finding him on the side of the road_. He looked like the scrawny kid he was, just waiting for a whipping. Sam might as well have changed the wording of his question to "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, there's nothing _wrong, _Sam. I just-" Dean stopped in mid-thought. What did he plan to say? What could he say to make it sound less accusatory, and more willing? Willing to help? He would do anything for Sam, and he had to make Sam aware of that. If Sam was keeping something from him, Dean couldn't help, couldn't make it better, couldn't even soften the blow. He had to make sure Sam knew he was on his side and that he was there for Sam, or he'd lose him forever.

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hope u guys liked it and had a wonderful April Fools Day! Those days, as we all now, can be quite the life-threatening ones so I hope u all survived the day!!

As I said at the beginning of the chapter, I have no beta

_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! **=O **

As I said at the beginning of the chapter, I have no beta. BUT, i may be getting a beta very soon. We have discussed the issue and I believe, once a few arrangements have been made, that we can work something out. YAY!! Soon you won't have to deal with my grammatical errors!!

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

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They walked into their motel room in silence, sludging through the door single file, Dean two feet ahead of Sam. He shrugged out of his coat, as did Sam, and threw it on the bed. He hadn't gotten anything else out of Sammy,_ Sam, _and it was bugging the hell out of him. There was something going on, something Sam wasn't letting on, too. He had realized it at Burger King, when Sam admitted his hatred for "Sammy". Those words hadn't been intended, Dean believed, as if he changed it up mid-sentence, before he could get out what really needed to be said. It was unnerving to Dean. Why wouldn't he want to tell Dean the truth, after everything that's happened how could he keep something from him, from _Dean_? Was he scared Dean would leave him, or was it out of his own hatred for being pitied.

Dean wasn't sure which, but he didn't like either option. However, the former was definitely the worse of the two. How could he even _think _Dean would leave him, no matter what he said? Dean loved him like his own brother, he would give his life for him, even _take _a life for him. It didn't seem to connect in Sam's head. Rather, he wasn't allowing the connection in the first place. If he knew someone was there for him, he'd start to lean on them, trust them. Once all Sam's weight was balancing on that loving, waiting shoulder, it would move out from under in a flash, disappear, with Sam hitting the ground, hard.

But why would he expect Dean to do that? Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Who said that was the reason Sam wasn't telling him something? Nobody. It could be that Sam just wasn't ready, that he wasn't strong enough yet. Dean could wait, sure, but he wanted to know _so_ damn bad.

Sam closed the motel room behind him, locking it, then reached for his duffel. Getting a clean pair of clothes, he trudged into the bathroom, locking that door, too. When Dean heard the shower head turn on, he allowed a loud sigh to pass his lips.

Everyday, usually three times a day, Sam would go straight to that shower and wash off as if the goddamn apocalypse was coming to take it away, scrubbing his body until it was red as a hot chilli pepper, sometimes even scrubbing enough to bruise. Dean threw his head in his hands, giving support to his heavy head, exhausted. Why did Sam have to do this to himself? Couldn't he see he was clean enough?

Dean wanted to cry out in the pain of it all. There were so many bad people out there, yet, they were never the victims. Never. When you're reading the newspaper and investigating a murder, the victim is more often than not a small, innocent, and completely defenseless child. Why? Because, in our society, they will always be the weakest link, the easiest to obtain. Even easier to train. They are victims not only because their younger and more inexperienced, but also because of their oh-so-wonderful parents. They don't teach anything to their children and, while their college friend is teaching her own children not to talk to strangers, they just sit around smoking weed. Besides, you won't read it was a rapist or a murderer that was killed by another murderer, that's not how the world works. As stated by Billy Joel, only the good die young.

Dean heard the shower turn off, and he eased out of his position on the bed, mentally bracing himself for the obstacle of his life. He would have to get Sam to talk one way or another. He wasn't going to do this half-ass job of being a big brother, he was better than that. He needed answers. The only way he could protect Sam was if he knew what he was up against, physically or psychologically, both being just as bad as the other, and face it with him, not cower away.

He heard Sam shuffling around, probably pulling on his clothes or still drying off. He could imagine Sam looking at himself in the mirror, a look of horror striking his face before looking away quickly. Sam hated himself, and Dean knew it. Hell, maybe the world knew it. Sam thought it was his own fault that awarded him the parents he had, the abuses that had taken place being on his behalf, but it was far from it. This was what Dean meant when he talked about parents earlier because, nowadays, instead of weed, it was just goddamn stupidity, plain and simple.

Fully dressed with a hoodie and jeans despite the humid weather, Sam came out, carrying his dirt clothes and neatly placing them into a hamper in the far corner of the room. Sam, probably sensing Dean's heated gaze, glanced up to look at Dean inquisitively.

Just from the look on Dean's face, Sam's mood plummeted, his mouth shaped in that of a grim line, unhappy clearly being an understatement of the year. Sam's emotions held something uncertain, something mystifying. Dean considered it for a long moment. What could it mean? Dean would be the first to say he himself was anything but an excellent mind reader, in a sense, of course, but, at that exact moment, he had _no _idea what Sam was thinking, not even an iota. Sam had never been an open book to begin with but this was different. So different. His muscles were tense, his back arching in a manner that seemed painful, as if he was trying to hide himself with the power of Zen. His hands were not clenched, but wide open, to the extent that his fingers were bending backward awkwardly, probably double-jointed. Sam noticed his fingers and quickly fixed them into a proper, more relaxed position, before clenching them onto his pants maliciously. What could he possibly be hiding that would make him react like this?

Dean watched Sam sadly. "Sam, I think we should talk." He made sure to speak confidently, practically, but never commandingly, as if trying to control him, persuade him into talking, demand the information out of him. He needed to make sure Sam _knew_ he had a choice.

Sam shook his head violently, his arms held out in a protective manner as if...what? Frightened? Was Sam frightened Dean would hurt him, like his own parents had? "I don't want to talk about anything. Please..."

No, not like his parents. Sam knew who he was talking to and he knew Dean would never physically hurt him, not intentionally. What Sam didn't know, however, was if Dean would potentially leave him if the right trigger was pulled, the right cord tugged on. At any moment, Sam thought there was a chance Dean could just explode.

No such damn thing.

Sam's eyes were stinging as tears fell silently down his cheeks, carving through the perfect curve of his cheek and down onto his gray hoodie. It broke Dean's heart, physically, as if it was forked out of his body and run over by twenty pickup trucks, eleven SUVs, six limos, two ice cream trucks, and a tricycle. Sam didn't deserve this, not any of it. The worst part was, Sam didn't know that.

Dean edged closer, arms open, a pleading look in his eyes. "Listen to me, Sam. Please. You can tell me. I won't hurt you. I promise."

Those last words seemed to have a worse affect than Dean had hoped. Obviously, a lot of people had made promises to Sam that he didn't particularly like, or that were never kept. Either way, it sent Sam backing into the wall, his head in his hands as he crumbled to the floor. He was mumbling something, and Dean instinctively edged closer.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to..."

Dean felt fatigue hit him in a rush, his legs giving out from under him. Why was he being affected in this way? Even better, why was _Sam _being affected in this way? All Dean had hoped for was an explanation for Sam keeping to himself, keeping things from him, and this is what becomes of it. A teenager, huddled in the corner of a motel room, crying softly and mumbling apologies he had no need for. It was painful to watch, and Dean fought the urge to turn away. If Sam saw him, he might think he was turning away out of disgust, not anguish.

Dean, on his hands and knees, crawled slowly, innocently, over to Sam. He didn't seem to mind as he sat next to him, which surprised Dean. He had been expecting a push, a cry, hell, a punch in the face. But, instead, he was met with waiting arms. Sam threw himself at Dean and cried softly, almost inaudibly, into his chest, his shoulders wracking with each quiet sob, cracking Dean's mask with it. Silent tears rolled down Dean's cheeks. What was he crying for? He didn't know for sure. Yet, instinctively, Dean knew Sam had always been strong and, if he was reacting like this, it was no doubt something bad. Something very bad.

Dean kept his arms around Sam's waist and held him tight, basking in his warmth. He was surprised he was allowed to hug Sam, what with his horrendous past. It made Dean happy to now he was trusted in that sense at least. Despite the tears as contradiction, he smiled a sad smile. What was he supposed to do now?

After Sam had quieted down, his sobs no longer filling the room with heartbreaking, bloodcurdling cries. He lay in Dean's lap, his body curled up in a ball as Dean smoothed Sam's hair lovingly, pulling lightly at a few strands of beautiful, chocolate-colored hair. Sam's eyes were closed and seemed at peace. Maybe what he had really needed was to just let it out, cry over so he can get over it.

Dean continued playing with Sam's hair, "You okay now?"

Sam did nothing for a moment, just twirling a strand of fabric between his fingers that was hanging off Dean's sleeve. He yanked it off, then tosses it to the floor, obviously not caring for neatness anymore.

He nodded, looking up at Dean's eyes as he did so. "I'll be fine."

Dean's frown grew larger, his concern for Sam becoming more prominent. "You feel fine or you _will _feel fine?"

Sam looked away, aiming his gaze to the floor, before looking ahead of him, eyeing the painting of a llama.

"I'm not fine now, but I will be." Sam's gaze hit the floor again. "I have to be."

Dean wasn't sure if a response was needed for Sam's last comment, though it did hit him. Sam was expecting the happily-ever-after that few people in this life ever got. Maybe he didn't expect it, just hoped. Hoped that, someday, all would be right in the world. Hoped that he would finally rid himself from his parents, not in concrete fashion, but in spirit. Once they stopped haunting him, he could be okay.

"Listen, Sam, you don't _have _to tell me what's going on in that crazy head of yours" Dean said, flicking Sam lightly on the back of the head. "But, I want you to know, I'm always here for you."

It was cheesy as hell, Dean knew all too well, but it had to be said. Sam would never see Dean as a caring person if he did not portray himself to be so. He was caring all right, he just never allowed it to be so noticeable, of course, until Sammy came along. But, frankly, even then, his face was stoic and emotionless. He had to work on that, loosen up a little when he was off the hunt. He wanted to make sure Sam knew everything he was thinking, make sure their were no surprises on Dean's part.

Sam smiled, nodding knowingly. "I know."

Dean smiled, rubbing his hair smoothly until Sam fell asleep in Dean's arms.

______________________

**Hope that was good for you guys. i know i havent been fair with you "Found in Time" readers since ive been doing so much on my "Left to Die" story. I'm really sorry about that. I need to know how many people still read this story, though, to see if I should shorten this one more than planned because, if nobody reads it, i dont want to waste my time when i could be writing stories people actually read. It wouldnt be fair to the reader. Thus, I would like reviews from _EVERYONE _that reads this, if you dont mind. I need an estimate, some approximate guess as to how many people still read this. It doesnt have to be a long review, but just to let me know you're still there, that someone's actually reading this. --thanks so much!!**

do u think i should continue "Won't Back Down" or Waiting Hastily"? I'm having mixed thoughts about it and was wondering if you guys could put some input on the situation. You see, the two arent super popular but some people seemed to like them, so...i don't know. Whatever y'all think

remember, or if you dont know yet, i have a new story coming up soon. I dont know what its going to be called. Sam turns 12 (maybe 13, not sure yet) and Dean and John forget. They go on a hunt without Sam and he's left to be attacked by a monster in the motel- the natural, human kind of monster.

_HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!_

**_POLL: (Actually for my other fanfic "Left to Die")- Favorite Character??_**

**REMEMBER TO REVIEW!!!!!! THEY MAKE ME HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! =D  
reviews+happy writer=happy reader**


	18. Chapter 18

_**Luv ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!  
**_P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!! =O

may soon have a beta....i hope

**ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

_______________________

Dean watched intently as Sam slowly awoke, his groggy eyes opening lazily as he rolled over on the twin-sized bed. Sam gazed around the room, his eyes locking on Dean's as he sat up. His stiff back popped loudly, loosening up his joints as it almost echoed in the dead silence. He offered a small smile, which Dean returned half-heartedly.

Sam had bags under his eyes, and looked ten years older than he was, when it was usually the other way around. Not only that, even if Sam had just woken up he was ever vigilant, alert, as if expecting an assault to come his way. His suspecting eyes roamed the room once before again locking on Dean.

He flipped the covers off him as he pushed himself onto his feet. The sun was coming in through the window, and the light on Sam's arms illuminated the tiny, almost indistinguishable scars. Dean looked away as he saw Sam sit beside him with his peripheral vision.

"Hey."

It was a greeting Dean had expected-- monotone, regular, dull, lifeless. That was Sam in the morning, every morning. Dean believed it was the nightmares, and that's what they probably were to say the truth. Sam had one almost every night and, in the beginning when Sam finally moved in, Dean would run to Sam's bed and comfort him until he fell asleep. He hadn't minded, not at all. And that was how it had gone for a time. Until Sam finally had enough and said he could take care of himself, that he didn't need to be protected, not from anyone, even himself.

Dean had wondered if their was inner meaning to it, but pushed no further. Sam was living on the edge as it was and, if the slightest wind pushed Sam in the direction of the fall, he'd go tumbling down like a twig, light and extremely controllable by wind.

"Hey. How do you feel?" Dean asked cautiously.

Sam shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

Dean sighed quietly. Sam twitched.

Dean stood up and entered the kitchen but he had to get away. Did he just screw up _again? _How many times would Sam deal before he finally snapped? He wasn't really hungry, but he had to get away, he just had to. Dean got two bowls and the box of Corn Flakes from inside the small wooden cabinet. Grabbing two spoons and a jug of milk Dean went back over to the table.

He walked back the short distance into the living room and, everything in his hands went crashing to the floor. Everything. The milk carton fell to the hard floor and burst open, milk flying every which way and splattering all over his boots, not that Dean noticed. The bowls cracked against the tile with a loud snap and spun wildly from the static friction.

Sam was gone.

The front door was left ajar, a slither of sunlight left on the floor, overshadowing the darkness. Or, at least it was supposed to be. Dean felt like his heart beat in his chest. It wasn't supposed to be that fast, was it? He grabbed at his cell phone, not even bothering to put on his jacket as he snatched it and threw it under his armpit.

He ran out the door and looked for signs of disturbances on the ground. To his left was a large patch of grass and, when he looked closely, he barely noticed the grass had small indentions in it every several inches. Footprints.

Dean threw himself forward with a burst of adrenaline. So this was Sam's breaking point? Was he gone forever, or would Dean find him in time? What if Sam was about to do something stupid, and he was too late?

He ran through the grass and followed the one-way road. He hadn't been in the kitchen too long, so it should be easy enough to catch up with Sam. Sam may not be your average teenager, but Dean had the height advantage and, with John's training, his endurance and agility were anything but inferior.

Despite the supposed short distance between the two, it felt like he'd been running forever. What if he had taken the wrong route? If what he saw in the grass really was footprints, this was the only way Sam could've gone. _What if they were someone else's footprints? _Fuck, Dean hadn't thought of that. Hell, they could've been his own.

Ahead of him was a forest. He had considered turning back, taking another route, when he saw a glimpse of chocolate hair among the trees. His heart skipped a beat as he watched it move farther away, running deeper into the forest. Dean ran into the forest with a sudden renovation of hope. He'd get Sam back, no matter what it took.

______________________

hey, peeps, hope u liked it!! its way short, i know. just had surgery on my foot a half hour ago and im exhausted. I had a loose body in my foot so an arthroscopy was in order, unfortunately...still feeling a bit groggy.....ZZzz......zZZz......

ive been juggling 3 stories and school so it takes a while for me to update nowadays....i can no longer do softball the rest of the season because i have a loose body in my foot (which means a piece of my bone fell off). I have to have an arthroscopy (type of surgery) this monday and im not exactly excited. though, ive always wanted to fight being put to sleep. even if i wont win it sounds very fun. hee hee

i would like to thank everyone that has reviewed for this story! i really appreciate the time you take into writing them so i believe a special thanks is in order!!  
-shagalecki  
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---im sorry if i forgot anybody but this is taking up a lot of space! for the others i havent named, i also thank you very much for all that you've done!!

**REVIEWS ARE VERY GOOD FOR THE SOUL!!!!**

_----Reviews are like cockroaches....they are always with you wherever you go... hee hee =)_----


	19. Chapter 19

hey everyone!! sorry its been so long since ive been on but i really felt the urge to update this one! there are italics for the flashback since i know yall, for the most part, havent read it in forever (once again, sorry about that)  
i havent done this in a while so lemme know what u think!!

i admit, its kind of short, but hopefully still worthy of some praise ;)

**ENJOY**

* * *

_He walked back the short distance into the living room and, everything in his hands went crashing to the floor. Everything. The milk carton fell to the hard floor and burst open, milk flying every which way and splattering all over his boots, not that Dean noticed. The bowls cracked against the tile with a loud snap and spun wildly from the static friction._

_Sam was gone._

_The front door was left ajar, a slither of sunlight left on the floor, overshadowing the darkness. Or, at least it was supposed to be. Dean felt like his heart beat in his chest. It wasn't supposed to be that fast, was it? He grabbed at his cell phone, not even bothering to put on his jacket as he snatched it and threw it under his armpit._

_He ran out the door and looked for signs of disturbances on the ground. To his left was a large patch of grass and, when he looked closely, he barely noticed the grass had small indentions in it every several inches. Footprints._

_Dean threw himself forward with a burst of adrenaline. So this was Sam's breaking point? Was he gone forever, or would Dean find him in time? What if Sam was about to do something stupid, and he was too late?_

_He ran through the grass and followed the one-way road. He hadn't been in the kitchen too long, so it should be easy enough to catch up with Sam. Sam may not be your average teenager, but Dean had the height advantage and, with John's training, his endurance and agility were anything but inferior._

_Despite the supposed short distance between the two, it felt like he'd been running forever. What if he had taken the wrong route? If what he saw in the grass really was footprints, this was the only way Sam could've gone. What if they were someone else's footprints? Fuck, Dean hadn't thought of that. Hell, they could've been his own._

_Ahead of him was a forest. He had considered turning back, taking another route, when he saw a glimpse of chocolate hair among the trees. His heart skipped a beat as he watched it move farther away, running deeper into the forest. Dean ran into the forest with a sudden renovation of hope. He'd get Sam back, no matter what it took._

They ran through the forest for a long time, maneuvering and dodging around trees and, sometimes, not even caring enough to move around. Each had their own goal, and they'd be damned if that one other person won over their own.

For Sam, he was running away from his parents, the two people he couldn't bear to live with any longer. He would rather die than go back to them, and the utter refusal he planned to execute would show as much. That's why he was running. He didn't want to be living under the same roof and, much too often, bedroom. He had a goal in life, and it would take him all his lifetime to accomplish it: forget. He wanted to forget about all the sad things that made him the way he was, that poor, defenseless kid that couldn't help but wonder where he'd gone wrong. If he could just erase it from his mind...

For Dean, he was running to get the one thing he couldn't live without. He was running to save him, apologize instantly and, hopefully in the end, it'd all be okay. That's what he was hoping for; no, _praying _for. He couldn't remember a time where he'd ever prayed so much in his life. He knew he'd fucked up, again, and he'd just have to put in that extra effort to show Sam he wasn't the bad guy, that he wasn't his parents...

So each ran for a purpose, whether it be running toward or running away from. It went on for what seemed like forever, neither knowing when their hole of darkness would arise from them, when it would lift from their spirits and, at last, leave them to the peace they deserved. They didn't know what this day would bring for them, and a stopping point from all this hadn't come until later in the day, when Sam began to grow weary..

His adrenaline rush had served him well, his strong urge to just _run_, but he knew it was over now. He was weary, nearly too damn tired to urge his legs forward anymore. He was slowing down fast, and he knew he no longer had the energy, or the will, to keep going.

He fell hard, his thin body hitting the ground with a loud, echoing thud. He lay there, still and silent, waiting for his parents to come and finish him off. He'd been disobedient, rejecting any plans they had had and ran from them. He remembered when he was younger how he'd always question when they'd finally kill him, the fierce fire leaving their eyes because he couldn't stay conscious long enough to see them. Maybe they wouldn't even do it on purpose. That they were so angry it only took one hit and he'd be out forever, never to wake up again.

He was begging for it, pleading a thousand pleas for them to just take him then kill him. He didn't want to live like that again, not after everything. He finally realized the potential for life was so much better and, since Dean came into his life, he _wanted_to live_. _Not some half-ass, second-rate wanted to explore life for all it was worth and do the things he had always considered wanting to do but never could in fear of his parents' reaction. Dean wouldn't have cared either. He'd have let him do whatever he wanted because he loved Sam as much as Sam loved him.

He quietly wondered what had happened to Dean. Had his parents finished them off, or was he trailing after him, waiting for the right moment?

It began to rain, harsh water droplets pounding into his frail body. Was it a sign for the worse?

He felt something, or someone, crouch down beside him, and he didn't even react when he was gently turned over onto his back. A tear had fallen, slowly dribbling down his cheek, and he looked his parents in the eyes one last time. He wasn't sure if it was of defiance or acceptance. Was he finally accepting his fate? Did he, at last, realize his life was truly in the hands of his parents? Or was he the same child he always was, too naive to realize his parents controlled his fate, not him?

He closed his eyes. This was it, he could finally die. He'd miss Dean, more than he himself could imagine, but he didn't want to live like this, not anymore. No hell was worse than what he's gone through.

He heard silent pleading going on next to him, and he wondered when his parents had ever pleaded before. If they had, he couldn't recall it. Did they finally realize the error in their ways? That their only child was one to be loved and cherished, not pained and abused endlessly? He doubted it, but he squinted his eyes open to make sure.

What he saw surprised him. It wasn't his parents, not at all. He could've swore they had been chasing him, but maybe it had all been his imagination, his mind playing tricks on him, taunting him into the submission it longed for.

With a joy he didn't know he could feel filling his heart, he realized it was Dean, the one person that actually cared for him and his well-being. Another tear fell, but this one was one of joy. He didn't have to be alone anymore.

He noticed Dean was crying as well, but more so than Sam. A hiccup came from Dean's mouth as tears flowed down his cheek excessively, and Sam knew Dean was hurt. Hurt because of Sam. He didn't know how to make it better. He wanted to talk to him, tell him everything was okay, but every time he opened his mouth nothing came. It pained him that he couldn't comfort his best friend. Dean was nearly doubling over and Sam couldn't even offer him a shoulder to cry on.

Dean was watching Sam sadly now, his gaze somehow unhindered by the mass of tears flowing from them. Sam offered a small smile, just to show everything was okay. And it was. For a long time now, Dean had been living on his own, with his father. That was enough, wasn't it? He didn't need to be added into the equation to create more pain. He was the third wheel that only bogged people down. Like he was doing right now.

Sam watched as Dean's gaze on him grew sadder. Could he see where this was going?

Sam licked his lips. "It's okay, Dean. Please."

Dean's gate burst, and all the old tear streaks that were on his cheeks where now covered by the ones he was currently allowing. Sam offered another smile, and Dean was saying something. Something important. Sam urged himself to hear, but he couldn't hear anything, not even the faintest whisper. His vision was beginning to darken at the edges, and he wondered what would happen next. Would he finally find the peace he had always been longing for? Find the time his parents had taken from him all these years?

No. He had already found it. It was Dean that gave back all the years he had been missing for so long. And he was the one that brought him peace. Laying on the cold, hard ground, he did feel at peace with the world. It was finally over. No more fright, no more hatred or confusion. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. Dean was holding him in his arms now with a sad, knowing smile, and he knew now it was okay to let go. He slowly, gently, closed his eyes, a smiled etched eternally on his features.

Everything was okay now.

The world fell away.

********Found in Time*********

hope u enjoyed the twist i had on it. im scared thats not what u guys were hoping for but, after i wrote it, i knew id have to allow it passage as the next and last chapter. he finally got the peace he deserved, with Dean beside him, and all is well. hope u guys liked it!!

and by the way, im gonna try and update the others, but sophomore year is really hectic!

UNTIL NEXT TIME...


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